


Lazy Summer Goddess

by LogicIsGod327



Series: Anthropomachy [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And Erica and Boyd deserved better, Blood Drinking, Blood Magic, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Everyone was way too chill about the stunt Scott pulled in season two, F/M, Forget what I said about Mild Gore, Friends to Lovers, Hale Pack, Human Sacrifice, I'm so sorry, It's just awful and I'm just awful, M/M, Mating Bites, Mild Gore, Minor Character Death, Scott is a Bad Friend, Season 3a, Shifted Sex, So here the fuck I am, Stiles Stilinski is Part of the Hale Pack, Supernatural Shenanigans, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel, alternate season 3, implied/referenced PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-06-28 02:10:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 53,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15697998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LogicIsGod327/pseuds/LogicIsGod327
Summary: Scott’s plan left Stiles tortured and Derek profoundly violated. After a brutal falling out, Stiles aligns himself with Derek and his pack, which will bring him into the sights of the Alpha Pack, and into direct conflict with Scott. All the while, something, or perhaps someone, is awakening in the forests of the Adirondack Mountains across the country.





	1. Rowanberries

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Lazy Summer Goddess (Traduccion)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15961037) by [yuki_yuki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuki_yuki/pseuds/yuki_yuki)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I rewatched the season two finale and got my head around how NOT COOL that entire thing Scott did was, so fuck that guy. God Be With You is still on, but I’m kinda struggling to see where and when to end it. In the meantime, enjoy.

He aches deep in his everywhere, the kind of ache he only ever experienced once before, in a car accident with his mother when he was six. Stiles is limping up the steps to the McCall house, and he’s furious. Not your standard, screaming and shouting and breaking things furious, no. He’s ascended to the cold, calm fury that makes you speak in an almost emotionless, even tone. He’s become so pissed off he’s made it back to calm.

Stiles raps against the door in three sharp bursts, the doorframe rattling with the force of it. He hears Scott bound down the stairs two at a time, and when he opens the door, homicide floods into Stiles’ veins. For the briefest moment, he wants nothing more than to actually kill Scott, but the thought is fleeting, and the calm, transcendent fury returns. 

“Dude, you look terrible.” Scott says, genuine concern coloring his tone, and isn’t that just precious? 

“Did you know?” He asks softly. 

Confusion paints the werewolf’s face. “Know what?” 

“Did you know what they were gonna do to me?” Stiles says. “Did you know Gerard was gonna take me?”

Scott swallows uneasily, and the silence is the answer. 

“Of course, you did.” Stiles begins. “Because you’re an idiot. You genuinely believed you knew best, and Derek and I paid for it. You wanted to be the genius who defeated big bad Gerard, and it didn’t matter what happened, or who suffered.” 

“Stiles, it wasn’t like that.” The other boy replies, shame in his voice.

“What was it like, huh? Cause, from where I’m standing, it went like this. You lied to me. You lied to Derek. You and Deaton both snuck around behind our backs, and you were too busy obsessing over Allison to notice that Gerard kidnapped your best friend and tortured him, and then you proceeded to violate Derek’s trust in the worst way possible, and take an  _ extremely  _ personal decision away from him, then justified it by saying  _ ‘You’re not my alpha’  _ after he was ready to accept you into his pack.” 

Scott looks dumbstruck. “Torture…?” 

“Yes, Scott. Torture. With canes and pipes and electricity. My ribcage looks like a Jackson Pollock painting.” Stiles snarls. “I can’t believe you. I knew this werewolf stuff changed you, but I would have never imagined you could lie to all of us like that. We were a team, Scott. We always approached this stuff together, and you double crossed all of us.”

“Stiles-”

The incensed teenager raises a finger and points it right in Scott’s face. “No. For once in your idiotic life, shut up and listen. Derek had every reason to turn you away, after all the shit we pulled on him. But he took you in, was willing to be your alpha, make sure that you were protected and had a pack. You went to him with your fingers crossed behind your back, and then stabbed him in his. It doesn’t matter if you had some trick up your sleeve, you should have told us, we would’ve gone along with it, and you  _ know  _ we would have.” 

Stiles takes a shuddering breath, and continues. “Instead, you left me to be tortured, and what you did to Derek is  _ unspeakable.  _ Among werewolves, forcing an alpha to bite is almost as severe as rape. It’s a profound violation, and if Derek were a little more old-fashioned, I won’t tell you what he would’ve done to you, but I will tell you it would have taken a very long time, and they wouldn’t be able to recognize you after he was done.” 

“I didn’t know…” The shamed werewolf whispers. 

He gives a mirthless chuckle. “Of course you didn’t, because you didn’t bother to ask. There is a real and rich culture among werewolves, one with protocols and rules and traditions, and you’ve opted to ignore of all it and pretend like you’re normal. If you bothered to even try, you’d understand what a sick thing you did, to all of us.” 

With that, Stiles turns on a heel, marching down the flagstone path to where he parked Roscoe. Scott is following him instantly, grabbing his arm to stop him. Stiles whirls, and does something he’s done only once before in eleven years of friendship. He lets loose a fist, and feels the crunch of Scott’s nose under it, the force of the punch enough to knock the werewolf back and wrench his arm free. 

“I’m done, Scott! I’m fucking done! You and Allison deserve each other, you’re both the same kind of sick!” 

“You hit me.” Scott whimpers, eyes golden in shock and blood staining his face even as his nose mends back into place. 

“And I’ll do it again, if you ever touch me.” He says without looking back, ripping open the door to the Jeep and slamming it shut again. He peels out fast enough to leave tire tracks, and Scott is alone, a bloody nose and a profound ache deep in his chest all he has left of his best friend since before kindergarten. 

**-Ω-**

Stiles makes it to the loft that Derek’s found for himself, and parks outside of the building before he finally breaks down. He cries into his hands as he realizes what this is. It’s the end of him and Scott. Even if he somehow finds it in him to forgive him, they will never be the same. There will always be the specter of Gerard Argent, of forced bites and forceful hits. At best, they could rebuild some rickety bridge of trust, but Stiles isn’t even sure he wants that, and it’s that realization that makes him cry even harder. Childhood is over.

Derek is there, somehow, because Derek is  _ always  _ there, easing him out of the Jeep without a word, guiding him up towards the loft, through an ancient service elevator and into the space he’s colonized. It’s a pretty impressive setup, truthfully. The decor is spartan, yet just enough to convey a sense of lived in. A crumbled brick archway leads to the kitchen/dining area to one side, and the living area has a pretty decent TV setup to the opposite. Stiles assumes that the bed is up the metal spiral staircase off to the left. Derek points him towards the couch, and then heads into the kitchen, returning with a glass of water and a wet washcloth.

By now, his sobs have subsided into hiccups, and Derek is easing the washcloth into his hands. Stiles looks at him gratefully and wipes away his itching, ragged eyes. Taking a deep, uneven breath, he sips from the water, and then pulls his knees up below his chin and curls into the corner of the couch.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Derek asks. 

Stiles shakes his head, and the older man presses no further. He marches back into the kitchen, where Stiles can hear him puttering about with pots and pans for a bit. 

“Stiles, could you come help me?” He calls. 

Hesitantly, Stiles eases into the kitchen, which is surprisingly modern. Sleek, stainless steel appliances are countered by stretches of grey granite countertops, and a length of counter is lined by stools. The enormous black stovetop has six electric burners, and a gas grill to the left of it. Derek reaches into an overhead cabinet, and pulls out an array of spices. 

“Wash your hands, then I need you to mix those together in a bowl for me.” Derek requests. “After that, season the meat while I get a salad together.” 

“What are you making?” Stiles softly queries. 

The werewolf turns, a small, genuine smile on his face. “My mother always made me prime rib when I was sad as a kid. I just guessed you could use a little comfort food.” 

“That’s… thank you, Derek.” He says as he washes his hands.

“You can thank me after you help me with this meal.” The man replies. 

The two of them make quick work of the meal, Stiles tenderizing and seasoning the meat as Derek throws together a regular salad, and then produces a bowl of leftover pasta salad to go with it. As the meat sizzles on the grill, Derek produces an expensive looking bottle of wine. The label is in a foreign language, reading  _ ‘Vaxið á Íslandi, öruggt fyrir varúlfur og manneldisnotkun’. _

Stiles picks up the bottle, peering at its contents. “What is that?”

“Icelandic rowanberry wine. It’s a safer alternative to spiking regular alcohol with wolfsbane.” Derek replies, setting two wine glasses onto the counter. He pours them each a glass, and raises his to Stiles. 

“Salud.” He says, taking a sip. Stiles does the same, the brilliant rouge liquid tasting both bitter and sweet at the same time. 

“Giving a sixteen year old alcohol is illegal, Mr. Hale.” Stiles feels compelled to joke. 

“There’s been a lot of that lately.” Derek replies, setting a cut of the meat on a plate, and passing it to Stiles. 

The two sit at the counter and eat in a companionable silence. The lighting is soft as the setting sun streams through a large window on the far wall, and mellow music that Stiles vaguely recognizes by Local Natives drifts from a Bluetooth speaker. He has to admit, the whole setup is pretty romantic. If he weren’t falling apart on the inside, he’d probably be making an idiot of himself with nerves. Instead, there is just the maelstrom of emotion inside, the image of shock on Scott’s face after Stiles broke his nose seared into his neocortex, and an undertone like static, the threat of complete emotional numbness only another piece of bad news away. 

He drains the wine glass quickly, and Derek pours him another without question. They make quick work of the prime rib, and then retire to the living room with the bottle of wine. Stiles sits on the matching chair kitty corner to the couch, and Derek flicks on a movie for them to watch as they go through the bottle. As he adjusts in the chair, the human gasps aloud when he brushes wrong against the seat, the dull ache of his bruised and broken ribs flaring into pain. Derek is there, his fingers at the hem of his tee shirt. 

“Let me see.” He implores. Too pained to disagree, Stiles nods, and the werewolf lifts the shirt. 

Derek gasps softly as he catches sight of Stiles’ ribs. The comparison to a Jackson Pollock painting was quite apt, as it turns out. His entire chest, from just below the collar bones down to his hips, is a mess of purple, blue, yellow, and brown, with vast stretches curling around his back. Frankly, he doesn’t even know how Stiles has been so calm, he should be in a hospital. He reaches to lay his hand against the injuries, and draws the pain away. Immediately, Stiles sags in visible relief as the pain vanishes into Derek in long veins of black. 

“Suddenly really tired…” Stiles mutters as he sprawls out in the chair. 

Derek is lifting him up immediately. “Oh, no you don’t. You’re not gonna twitch in your sleep and hurt yourself more. Couch, now.” 

“‘Kay. Whatever you say,” He yawns. “Sourwolf.”

Derek eases him onto the couch, tucking a pillow behind his head. “Sleep.” 

“Night, D’rek.” Stiles mumbles halfway into the pillow and halfway into the couch. 

Derek sighs, wondering what he could possibly do to help Stiles as the teenager is already in deep sleep after only a few seconds. These injuries are serious, and there’s no coming up with an explanation that’ll satisfy human doctors. Deaton is an immediate no-go, so Derek finds himself flummoxed. That is, until a long shot idea worms its way into his head. 

He slips Stiles’ phone from his pocket, and uses his thumb to unlock it. He scrolls to the Ms in his contact list, and hits the only name in the section. The phone rings for only a few seconds before a silvery voice is filling the line. 

_ ‘Stiles?’  _ Lydia asks, concern in her voice. ‘ _ Stiles, Allison told me what happened with you and Scott.’ _

“It’s Derek. We need your help.” 

Confusion colors her voice.  _ ‘Is Stiles alright?’ _

“He’s not… he’s okay. But right now, he’s sleeping, and I need you to come to my loft and help with something.” Derek says. “1238 Centurion Ave, the top floor.” 

_ ‘I’ll be there in twenty.’ _ After that, the line goes dead. 

Derek pours himself another glass of the rowanberry wine, and stalks over to the desk he keeps by the enormous window. He figured it had something to do with Scott, but something serious must have happened to have reduced Stiles to the mess he was when Derek found him. 

He can only imagine the pain Stiles was in that entire time, and yet, he still showed up, ate a meal with Derek, and was ready to get hammered with him. That sort of strength is more than impressive, it’s downright flooring. He knew that Stiles had no clue what Scott had planned after he mentioned escaping Gerard’s clutches at the warehouse it all happened in, and, if Derek is honest, he was relieved. What Scott did was unforgivable in most werewolf circles, and the thought of Stiles being complicit in that was gut wrenching. 

The train of thought is interrupted by the sound of a vehicle pulling into the parking lot so many floors below. He sets down the glass on the desk, and walks out to meet Lydia in the foyer. The service elevator drags its way up to his loft, and Lydia is out before the thing has even fully settled into place, standing before him with crossed arms and a worried look. 

“What’s happened?” She demands. 

“I could ask you the same, since you seem to know more about it than I do.” He shoots back. 

The redhead rolls her eyes. “You called me, remember?” 

He swallows, and then nods. “Stiles is injured. Gerard did a real number on him, and he’s been running around on an adrenaline high since the other night. I need you to conduct a healing spell.” 

“Can’t you?” 

Derek shakes his head. “No, not like he needs. Most of his ribs are bruised or broken, and there’s probably internal trauma. He needs more than a pain drain.” 

Lydia pales as she listens. “I assume you have some book of spells or an incantation?” 

“In here.” He gestures for her to follow. 

On the desk, there’s an old looking book bound in faded brown leather. The elegant cursive script on the cover is printed in Latin, and Lydia can feel some form of magic radiating softly from the tome.

“It was my mother’s. She had it enchanted to protect it from damage. Page 236.” He says. 

Derek walks over to where Stiles is still sprawled on the couch, sleeping more heavily than he has in perhaps his entire life. As gently as he possibly can, Derek works the tee shirt he’s wearing up and over the younger man’s head, all without waking him. Lydia looks up from the book, and walks to stand over Stiles. 

The redhead clears her throat, and speaks in the incantation in Archaic Latin. “ _ Lunam matrem dicimus frater tuus vulnus curare. Per testamentum invocaverimus te. Nostro iure invocaverimus te. Quam quidem protestationem nomen tibi.  _ Mother Moon, we call on you to heal the wounds of our brother. By our covenant, we call on you. By our right, we call on you. We call on you.” 

There’s an ethereal, otherworldly tone to her voice as she finishes speaking. They watch with bated breath as the bruises that mar Stiles’ skin fade away, and he settles in his sleep, seeming to only fall deeper into the realm of dreams.

“Thank you.” Derek sighs, sitting in the chair corner to the couch. 

Lydia gives him an appraising look, and then leans against the arm of the couch, careful to avoid disturbing Stiles. 

“Why’d you ask me here, Derek?” She asks. 

The older man looks at her like she’s grown three heads. “You saw him. He was hurt, badly.” 

“No, Derek.” She gives a wry little chuckle. “It could’ve waited until the morning, but you called me here at almost midnight.”

“I was worried about him. 

Lydia straightens up, and lays a hand on his shoulder. “Ask yourself why.” 

She leaves with barely another sound, shutting the massive oak doors as gently as she can. Derek listens as she takes the stairs two at a time all the way down, and the soft  _ click  _ of her heels against the weathered blacktop outside, and the dull thrum of her car’s engine as it drives away. 

He stands up, pouring himself another glass of the wine, and turns the TV on, putting on the captions and muting the volume. From the chair, he watches late night television and works his way through the bottle, a million questions and no answers soaring through his mind. Somewhere around two in the morning, Derek shuts off the television and slips up the rickety spiral staircase and falls into a heavy sleep. 

**-Ω-**

The first thing he’s aware of when he wakes is the uncomfortable angle of his neck against the arm of the couch. The second is the fact that breathing doesn’t hurt as it did when he fell asleep. Stiles sits up, suddenly noticing that he is very much shirtless, and that the bruises and blotches on his chest have faded away. Gingerly, he pokes at what he knows is one of the most painful spots on his ribcage, only to feel nothing but the pressure of his fingertip against his skin.

More boldly, he runs his hands all over his skin, feeling no pain. The fractures he could feel with even a cursory touch are gone. He’s done months, maybe even years of healing overnight. Just as he comes to realize this, he realizes where he is. Derek’s loft. Memories of prime rib and rowanberry wine fill his mind, and then Stiles remembers what happened yesterday. Scott. The fight. Hitting him.

With a deep, world-weary sigh, he stands, stretching his arms towards the vaulted ceiling of the loft and yawning loudly as he does. He puts the tee shirt back on, and then goes to relieve himself in the bathroom. Once he’s gone, he splashes some water on his face, and heads toward the kitchen. 

His phone died sometime in the middle of the night, so Stiles immediately looks to the clock on the oven, which reads 9:07. Derek is there, in an undershirt and old sweatpants, frying something at the stovetop. 

“Good morning.” He says, pointing to a coffeemaker with a full pot resting on another counter. “It’s Colombian, the strong stuff. Cups are in the cabinet above.” 

Stiles offers him a grateful smile, and then steps over to pour himself a mug. After dumping his usual diabetic coma’s worth of cream and sugar into the brew, he sits back down at the counter and watches Derek cook. 

“So, I can’t help but notice that I’m not hurt anymore…” He awkwardly trails. 

The werewolf nods. “I called Lydia in, she did a healing spell on you while you were passed out.” 

A gobsmacked look crosses his face. “You did?” 

“Why is everyone so surprised?” Derek scoffs. “Yes, Stiles, I did. I’m not a complete bastard, you know? You were pretty badly hurt, so I thought you might like to not be. If I was wrong, I’ll break your ribs again if you want me to.” 

Stiles immediately flinches, drawing one hand to cover his ribs, and Derek feels like an asshole the second the words have left his lips. The way Stiles reacts isn’t like him, it’s with genuine fear that fills his scent and a heartbeat gone into overdrive. Clearly, he’s in a more fragile state than he was lead to believe.

“Stiles, I’m sorry.” Derek says.

The teenager relaxes just a little bit. “S’okay.” He mutters into the coffee cup as he takes a sip.

The air is tense for the next few minutes, but Derek finishes cooking, and slides an omelet on a plate towards Stiles, and the grateful smile he receives is proof that they’re okay. Derek plates himself another one, and then pours himself a glass of orange juice and pulls the toast from the toaster. Armed with forks and knives and hungry stomachs, the two men make their way into the living room, and sit and eat, watching the morning news as they do. 

It becomes a routine. Stiles will stay a couple nights a week, the two of them making dinner and breakfast together. Derek imports an entire case of the rowanberry wine for them, as it becomes a routine. Stiles lies through his teeth about where he’s spending his nights, providing excuses about hanging out with Scott, whom he hasn’t spoken with since their falling out. A few times, Lydia and Isaac join them. Jackson even graces them with his presence once on an August night, as a half moon shines through the windows of the loft and they celebrate Isaac’s birthday. 

Lydia presents him with a $400 gift card to Express and the promise of a shopping trip. Stiles gives him a cheaper Starbucks gift card and four pounds of rare Brazilian blend of coffee. Jackson doesn’t give him anything, but he sounds sincere when he wishes him happy birthday. It’s Derek’s gift, however, that seems the most meaningful. The gift is the only one wrapped in a simple blue and silver paper, and Isaac’s name is printed in Derek’s looping script on a small tag. 

Tearing it open, Isaac gasps as he takes in the sleek black leather of the motorcycle jacket. Folded among the layers is a second note from Derek. 

_ ‘If you’re going to be my beta, it’s time you looked the part. Happy birthday, Isaac.’  _

Isaac looks up at him with a million emotions swarming in his eyes. “Thank you.” He says, and then embraces Derek in a bear hug that catches all of them off guard. Derek stiffens for a moment, but returns the embrace and pulls away smiling at his beta. 

“Happy birthday, pup.” 

The wolves in the room all suddenly snap their heads up, hearing a disturbance. To their ears, they hear ragged breathing, a rapid and frenetic heartbeat, and the pounding of feet up the ancient flights of concrete stairs. The door to the stairwell flies open loud enough to startle the humans in the room, and then there is pounding at the door. 

“Derek, please!” A female voice cries out. “Derek, open up!” 

Stiles’ eyes go wide. “Is that…?” 

Derek rips the enormous doors open, and a filthy blonde figure stumbles into the room. She stops short, taking in the others, as they take her in as well. 

Erica is covered in blood and dirt, her jeans shredded and stained, the white camisole long stained grey-brown and ripped into something that barely covers her breasts. Her hair is knotted and filled with twigs and leaves. Her eyes glow a feral sort of gold. 

“They’re coming!” She yells. “They’re coming!” 

With that, Erica collapses to the floor, instantly unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos this bitch, drop a review, and validate me, please and thanks.


	2. The Space Between

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mostly wrote this as a filler chapter, it’s just to get us in position for the next one, but a few plot developments do form. Hope y’all enjoy.

They stretch Erica out along the couch, checking her over for wounds. There is a series of three long claw marks that curl from just below her right breast to the small of her back, but they are faded and healed over. Derek confirms they’re the mark of an alpha, and that they’ll likely be gone in a few days. Isaac sets her head in his lap and works on detangling the mess of her hair, throwing the leaves and sticks that perforate Erica’s locks into a small garbage can next to them. Stiles anxiously paces by the window, wondering what she meant by when she said they were coming. Finally, Derek sighs and shares the truth.

““A month ago, I found a variant of a triskele painted onto my door, a rare version of the symbol. It didn’t curl, instead it was nothing but angles, and each arm ended with a triangle. The symbol of an alpha pack. I think that’s what’s coming, and they’re who Erica escaped.”

“Whoa, an alpha _pack?”_ Stiles demands. “As in a group of all alphas, and they’re coming here?”

Derek nods. “It’s a… less than optimal situation.”

“They’ll be looking for a fight.” Lydia says. “We need numbers. Where’s Peter?”

“I haven’t seen him in almost a month, and I haven’t caught his scent anywhere. I don’t know where he’s gone.”

“Good riddance to bad trouble.” Isaac mutters. Upon seeing the eyes of the room fall to him, he defensively squawks. “What? He put us all through Hell, and he’s fucking _creepy!”_

“Fair point.” Stiles concedes.

Jackson sighs. “Either way, one alpha was bad enough. But more? We’re royally screwed.”

“No, we’re not.” Derek says. “We’re a pack. We’re strong, and we will hold our own.”

They start planning. Stiles, Lydia, and Derek adjourn themselves to the desk by the window and consult with a laptop and the magical book, Jackson heads out onto the roof to keep a watch in case this alpha pack decides to show, and Isaac keeps tending to Erica, murmuring so softly into her ear even the wolves in the room cannot pick up what he’s saying, just the continuous sound of his lips brushing together as he speaks and untangles her hair.

“We need to find out what happened to Boyd.” Lydia declares. “Erica wouldn’t just leave him behind, the alphas may still have him.”

Derek nods. “I can still feel the connection to him, if only just. He’s alive.”

“Small blessings.” She says to herself as she reads a passage of Greek to translate for Stiles.

The hours stretch until it’s nearly midnight, when Derek suddenly looks up towards the ceiling, and speaks. “Jackson.”

There’s a loud _thud_ as he jumps two floors down from the roof to the balcony, and then the newest werewolf steps inside, looking to his alpha.

“I want you with Stiles and Lydia tonight, in the same place. If they come, don’t engage, just get them the Hell out of there and bring them to me. If you can’t get to the loft, we’ll meet at the old house. Understood?”

“Got it.” He nods, steely eyed.

“And you two,” The alpha turns to the humans. “Get yourselves some rest, I need you both running at full capacity tomorrow. We have a couple of meetings.”

Lydia nods, and Stiles salutes, and then the three of them are out of the door and headed downstairs. Derek is tense until he can no longer hear the hacking of the Jeep in time with the sleek thrum of Lydia’s Porsche.

“Things are about to get a lot worse, aren’t they?” Isaac speaks up for the first time in a few hours.

Derek sighs. “I think so, pup.”

**-Ω-**

“No, no, it’s ly- _kahn_ -thropos, not lycanthropos. Pronunciation is key, Greek magic isn’t like Latin. It’s older, testier.” Lydia insists as they pour over magic notes.

Stiles makes a face as he stares at the Greek characters. “I think I prefer to just take a baseball bat to the bad guys.”

“I’m sure the alpha werewolf you try that on will love tying that baseball bat around your neck on a knot.” She snarks back. “You need to be able to defend yourself.”

“I can’t even remember what letters mean what, forget pronunciation to use so I don’t turn myself into a potted plant instead of the guy in front of me to ash!”

Lydia folds the spiral notebook shut. “Look, let’s just get some sleep. Decompression is key to learning. We’ll try some more in the morning, okay?”

“Whatever, I still think it’s hopeless.” Stiles grouses.

“A positive attitude is also key.” She shoots at him.

Without further ado, the redhead stands and puts the notebook back with a bunch of others on a bookshelf. Stiles was pretty genuinely surprised at the first time he got to take a look at just how _nerdy_ Lydia’s bedroom is. On her desk is a Funko Pop of Hillary Clinton, standing next to Dorothy from _Golden Girls_. A small framed piece of calligraphy Stiles recognizes as the Vulcan script for ‘Live Long and Prosper’ rests on one shelf, and a less subtle action figure of Xena Warrior Princess stands on another.

There are mementos from trips to Canada and Mexico, New York and Los Angeles. Photos of Lydia and her mother in front of Mount Rushmore and other icons of the American landscape dot the walls, and a desk is cluttered with papers in English, Latin, Greek, and several other languages, one of which Stiles believes is Fae. The whole place is such a direct opposite to the image that Lydia projects that he’s amazed he’s been allowed to see it.

Jackson is there at the window, eyes glowing blue. “I’m gonna do a perimeter run, I won’t be more than thirty seconds away.” He says through the glass.

Lydia smiles, a gentle sort of grin that Stiles once wanted nothing more than for that smile to be for him, but he’s since realized just how much she loves Jackson, and he’s made an effort to let her go after all these years.

“Okay, be safe.” She softly replies.

Stiles gives a wan sort of grin to her. “He’s not as much of a prick as used to be.” He says.

“He had to do some major growing up. We all did.” She replies. “Come on, bedtime.” She insists, throwing a couple of pillows at Stiles.

He heads to the loveseat against the far wall and stretches out as best he can, pulling a blanket over his form and settling in.

“Night, Lyds.” He calls.

Lydia turns off the lights from her bed. “Goodnight, Stiles.”

They drift off not long after.

**-Ω-**

Derek is falling asleep at his desk when he hears the soft intake of air from the couch.

“Derek?” Erica’s voice breaks from across the loft.

Immediately, he’s up and at her bedside. “I’m here, Erica.”

His beta looks at him with genuine fear and a haunted look in her eyes. “What… how did I get here?”

“You don’t remember?” He asks, and she shakes her head no. “You ran here, burst in screaming about _‘They’re coming, they're coming’_ , and passed out.”

Recognition fills the girl’s eyes, and she lets her head fall back against the arm of the couch, sighing softly.

“God, that’s right.”

“Is it the alpha pack? Are they coming here?” He urges her.

“Yes.” She whimpers. “They took us, said we were gonna be bait. Boyd and I, we tried to escape. I barely made it out… but they got him.” Tears start to brim in her eyes.

Derek sighs, shaking his head. “Shit.”

“There was someone else. A girl our age, she was always sedated though. She couldn’t even tell us her name. She was a wolf, though.”

The older wolf takes her hand in his. “Come on, let me help you up. Can you stand?”

Erica is lifted off of the couch and placed on her feet. At first, she wobbles a bit, but she quickly steadies, and takes a few steps towards the bathroom.

“I really have to pee, and I wanna take a shower, okay?” She asks.

Derek nods. “Isaac got you some fresh clothes, I’ll go get them and leave them for you.”

“Okay, thank you.” Erica smiles gratefully at him, and steps into the bathroom.

Once he leaves the clothes outside the door, he grabs his phone off of the desk and fires off a group text.

**DH: Erica is awake, Boyd is alive.**

**IL: Omw back now. Nothing from recon**

**JW: Still at Lydia’s. Want me back?**

**DH: No. Bring them here tomorrow.**

**JW: Ur the boss.**

With that, Derek waits for Erica to finish up, heading over to the paltry collection of information on alpha packs he’s been able to dig up. Most of what it suggests is that even they have a hierarchy, mostly focused around skill than any biological rank. There always seems to be a natural leader who is able to draw some level of submission from the others in the pack, and that their death is usually enough to make such a pack unravel.

Other than that, there is some evidence these alphas grow their own strength by killing betas, and have little regard for werewolf common law. Sighing, Derek prepares himself for a fight, and prays that the leader of the alpha pack is as naturally apparent as in a normal one. All the information he’s found, from the few books of his mother’s to the rare trustable online source, emphasize one thing. An alpha pack is extraordinarily dangerous, and that it’s exceptionally rare for a standard pack to make it out of a conflict with one unscathed.

Organizing his papers and printing off a few pages from the dark web, he returns to the couch and opens up his phone, distracting himself with a book he downloaded a few days ago. Eventually, the sound of water running vanishes from his ears, and he hears Erica crack open the bathroom door to grab the bag of clothes he left there. Moments later, she slips out, dressed and looking more hesitant than ever.

“Derek…?”

He looks up, seeing genuine fear in her eyes. “What’s the matter, Erica?”

“Are you… are you mad we left?” She asks quietly.

Sighing, Derek stands up and approaches her. “I’m disappointed. I trusted you, gave you both a way out, and you abandoned me when I needed you. But I’m not mad, and, right now, I’m just glad you’re alive.”

Erica swallows thickly. “I’m sorry. It’s just… we didn’t see a way out of this alive.”

“Out of the frying pan and into the fire, huh?” He chuckles darkly. Sobering, he looks into his beta’s eyes. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll rescue Boyd, and we’ll be a pack again.”

“I’m never leaving again. You’re my alpha, and I’m not gonna abandon you.” She vows, and her heart is steady.

**-Ω-**

The next morning, Stiles is back home, doing some reading that Derek forwarded him before heading to the loft to see Erica when the kitchen door is knocked upon. There’s only two people who swing around back to use that door, and Scott hasn’t bothered knocking in years, though that may well have changed. But something tells Stiles exactly who it is, and his hunch is right. Melissa McCall stands in a pair of hospital scrubs with her arms crossed on the side porch, and he debates not answering the door, but finally does.

“Okay, what the Hell is going on?! I haven’t seen you in two weeks after you’ve basically lived at my house since you were five, and then I ask Scott and all I get is an angry werewolf glare for my trouble! What happened?!” She demands.

Stiles sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s… it’s complicated, Melissa.”

“More complicated than my son being a werewolf?” She deadpans.

“Scott made his decision, and it cost me a lot. I can’t… I can’t be friends with someone like that.”

The look she gives him is downright shock. “You two have been friends since you were toddlers, you’ve known each other better than anyone! What do you mean you can’t be friends?!”

“Melissa, really, you’re better off letting it go.” He implores. “It’s not your battle to fight.”

The elder shakes her head vehemently. “Nope, not happening. You’ve been like a son to me for years, I’m not giving that up. You’re family, and I don’t let that go easy. Genim Daniel Stilinski, you tell me what happened.”

Rage floods back into Stiles as he recalls the fight and the reasons behind it. “You really wanna know?!” He spits, fire burning in his eyes.

“Yes, dammit!”

“Your idiot son lied to me, for weeks. He snuck around behind my back and then was so far up Allison’s ass he didn’t notice when her psycho grandfather kidnapped and _tortured_ me. So you’ll excuse me if I decided maybe he’s not the best person to be friends with if I’m just going to get maimed for my efforts!”

The outburst is enough to stun the usually vocal woman into silence, but Stiles can read the word _‘torture’_ passing silently across her lips over and over. Finally, Melissa clears her throat, and blinks away the shininess of her eyes, and transitions into nurse mode.

“Let me see. How badly are you hurt? I assume you haven’t seen any medical professionals, you could have serious internal trauma.”

Stiles defensively crosses his arms. “Lydia cast a spell. I’m fine now.”

“All the magic in the world can’t heal the psychological wounds. I know someone who works with torture survivors, I could probably get a therapist out here soon.” She insists.

“‘Melissa.” He speaks up. “Go home. Go be with your son.”

“Stiles…”

“Go.” He says, choking up. “Please, just- just go.”

With that, he shuts the door, and walks back into the kitchen. Stiles sits at the table and forces himself not to cry. He refuses to shed anymore tears. At least, that’s what he tries to do, but they keep falling anyway. His entire being trembles with barely suppressed sobs, and the croaking noise in his throat tells him how close he is to breaking. He’s just sent away the closest thing he’s had to a mother since Claudia Stilinski died so long ago, and he’s barely hanging on by a thread.

The tears keep falling, but the dam does not break.

**-Ω-**

The truck with three men speeds its way down a pine tree-lined road in the dead of the night, alone on its winding voyage. It does not stop for any stop signs, nor even slow at curves in the route. The grey pick up pushes forward without any regard for the rules of the road.

Spiderwebs of black wrap their way around the half-formed creature’s skin. There’s hints of a face in the twisted mounds of flesh, laborious breathing forcing its way out of a mouth filled with a jumbled mess of fangs and teeth, the thing’s eyes swollen shut as its limbs twist and curl reflexively.

The hunter sitting in with this creature in the bed of the truck wonders if it truly is alive, if the thing that once was called Gerard Argent is now nothing more than a mutated animal more cancer and wolfsbane than flesh and blood. As the clear night sky hangs overhead, he sees a sign on the roadside pass by as they drive through.

_‘NOW ENTERING: STATE OF NEW YORK’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me how bad I am at filler or whatever, validate my desperate ass please and thank you. Next chapter will be more interesting, I promise.


	3. The Caged Wolf Howls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, into the thick of it. Since Jeff Davis doesn’t have a clue how to do anything or avoid plot holes even within the same season, we’re getting a different introduction to Satomi, our resident bad bitch old lady. Chapter title is a paraphrase of Maya Angelou’s “Why The Caged Bird Sings.” Enjoy.

Two vehicles swerve their way through the forests of the Portola Redwoods State Park, a black Camaro leading a sleek silver Porsche. Inside the Camaro, Derek, with Stiles in the passenger seat and Isaac and Erica in the back, talks with Jackson and Lydia over the phone.

 _‘So who is the lady we’re going to meet?’_ Jackson asks over the phone.

“Satomi Ito, she’s an old family friend, and I mean that literally. She’s at least 150, maybe older. If anyone knows how to deal with an alpha pack, it’s her. She’s an alpha to an enormous pack, so she might be able to provide us some backup.”

Stiles looks to Derek. “150? As in, born in 1868? How long do werewolves live for, Sourwolf?”

“It’s not a wolf thing, it’s an alpha thing. The enhanced healing means that an alpha can live for many times the standard lifespan, even as long as five hundred. Most alphas willingly surrender the power to their offspring when they get older, so they don’t have to watch their loved ones die around them. Satomi is unmated, and has no kids. She never had a reason to pass the power.” Derek explains. “The aging extends to the alpha mate, as well. Losing a mate is often enough to make a wolf die, so evolutionary biologists and druids in the study theorize that the magic came about to keep alphas alive.”

 _‘Impressive.’_ Lydia comments from the other car.

They fall silent for the rest of the drive, only watching the passing forest and listening to whatever song cranks through the car radio. Stiles silently envisions what this Satomi woman must look like. Given Derek’s explanations, he imagines either a deceptively young looking immortal, or an aged hag concealing immense power. Either way, he is excited to meet her, and to view how two alphas interact in a cordial manner. His research implies there is a great deal of formality and ceremony when the leaders of two packs meet.

Eventually, they drive past a sign that reads ‘ _Loma Mar, Population - 113’_ , and Derek turns down a private gravel driveway with an open metal gate. The winding dirt road takes them nearly fifteen minutes into the deepest part of the forest in the San Francisco Peninsula before it breaks into a clearing with several enormous houses, all in the colonial style with the same pale blue siding and black slate roofs. A lone figure sits on the steps of the porch of the largest house, a pale woman with dark hair pulled into a tight bun. Derek brings them to a stop here, and the woman rises to approach the car.

Getting out, he bends down to embrace her, as she nearly a foot shorter, but her presence is commanding even before she speaks. Stiles gets a better look at her, and she is not what was expected. Satomi has elegant Japanese features, and is solidly built, and appears to be no older than her early sixties. She looks more like someone’s grandma than the oldest werewolf in the state of California.

“Derek, how are you?” She asks, grabbing his face and looking him over with scrutiny.

The younger wolf sighs. “Not good, Satomi. But introductions first. This is my second, Isaac Lahey, my other betas Erica Reyes and Jackson Whittemore, and my Emissaries, Lydia Martin and Stiles Stilinski.”

The Japanese woman’s eyebrows fly up. _“Two_ Emissaries? Even your grandmother’s pack is more than a hundred strong and she only has one.”

Derek crosses his arms somewhat defensively. “Lydia is a Spark, but Stiles is just as important to this pack, and he deserves acknowledgement for that. Since he’s human, calling him a beta would be inappropriate, and _‘research guy’_ is just demeaning. He’s part of this pack the same as the rest of us.”

“Hmm.” Satomi nods with a tiny, knowing grin. “Important indeed. Anyway, you said there was danger in your phone call. What’s happening?”

“An alpha pack.” He says.

Satomi’s eyes flash burning red for a moment as the shock washes over her. “You’re certain?” She whispers.

Derek nods, pulling out his phone and showing the picture of the harsh triskele. “It’s a warning.”

Swallowing, the older woman nods. “We’ll stand with you. There’s been enough instability around here since your mother’s passing, we need no more of it. We’ll talk more over dinner, come on.”

She leads them into the big house, through a great industrial kitchen, and into what looks like an Amish restaurant, a great hall lit by elegant chandeliers and filled with long tables, each lined with benches and dozens of places set. The back windows are enormous, and offer a beautiful panorama of the property, including a distant lake glittering in the late afternoon sun. Against another wall, a massive buffet is set up, with a few wolves stocking the last of the dishes and covering them with metal tops to keep warm.

“It’s nearly supper, you’re in luck.” Satomi smiles at them. “Grab plates now, the rest of the pack will be here in a few minutes.”

They do as instructed, each loading up plates. There are dishes of all varieties, from spaghetti and steak to more traditional Japanese fare such as tempura and sukiyaki. The pack occupies the middle of the center table, straddling both sides. Satomi and Derek sit directly opposite one another, with Stiles directly to his right and Isaac to his left. The older wolf raises an eyebrow, but does not comment. Just then, the rancor of nearly fifty wolves floods the dining hall, and Satomi stands.

“Everyone!” She calls out. “This is Alpha Derek Hale and his pack from Beacon Hills. They’ll be eating with us.”

There’s an intrigued murmur that runs through the pack as they pick up the name Hale. Some stop to say hello, and Stiles is amazed at the breadth of diversity in the pack. There are families with little ones, tiny wolves that chase each other with their eyes and claws on display, and elderly mated pairs that sit next to each other and openly scent mark one another, even as they eat. There are even teenagers, though he doesn’t recognize any of them.

“How long ago did that mark appear on your door?” Satomi asks.

“About a month ago. The same time Peter went missing and Erica and Boyd left.” Derek replies.

“There’s another beta?”

“They still have him. Erica escaped, but she said there was another wolf there as well.” He confirms.

“That is… disturbing.”

Stiles speaks up. “I’ve been doing some research, and it says that even alpha packs have hierarchies. If we kill the leader, there’s a chance the pack might fall apart, right?”

“There is a chance, unless there is a clear inheritor of the command, in which case, you risk making them more dangerous. Wolves hold grudges for the rest of their lives, they will not stop until their pound of flesh is had.”

“Comforting.” Jackson mutters.

“Better to know your enemy than be comfortable, young one.” Satomi sharply replies. “Regardless, we will stand with you. You’ll have my ten best fighters, and myself.”

“Couldn’t we negotiate?” Lydia asks.

“No.” She says. “You don’t negotiate with an alpha pack, you eradicate it. They gain power by killing betas, and are ruthless in doing so. They are a stain on all werewolves.”

“What about Boyd?” Erica asks, deep concern plain on her face. “I can’t lose him.”

“He complicates matters.” Satomi concedes. “We’ll try to locate him first, and hunt the alphas from there.”

Dinner continues with she, Derek, and Stiles discussing strategy for dealing with the alphas, with occasional input from Lydia as well. Eventually, the great hall empties as the rest of Satomi’s pack returns to whatever they were doing before dinner, leaving just the small group of them together at the table, their plates long ago collected. Eventually, a middle aged man who looks similar to a drill sergeant sits with them. He’s built like a brick wall, with suntanned skin and closely cropped black hair. His grey eyes are the color of a summer thunderstorm, and he takes them all in with a keen eye.

“Everyone, this is my second, Anthony Cole.” Satomi says. “He’s is a formidable fighter, and a damn fine pack wrangler.”

“Good to meet you.” He says. “Alpha Hale, I never had the chance to meet your mother, but Satomi speaks of her very fondly.”

“Cole was bitten a few years back while serving as a night guard at a major bank in Los Angeles. He found his way to Loma Mar by chance, and I took him in, and helped him learn control. He’s taken to this life like a fish to water.” She explains with pride.

“I’ll be along to help you deal with this problem.” Cole says.

“Nice to know you’re on our side.” Isaac smirks. “I wouldn’t mess with you.”

The man gives a wry grin. “Plenty have tried.”

They all adjourn shortly thereafter, with the Hale pack departing back for Beacon Hills, to be joined by Satomi and her betas in the next few hours. When they arrive home, Lydia and Jackson head for the Martin residence to collect some things in case of a fight, and Isaac accompanies Erica back to her house to collect some things, leaving Stiles and Derek alone to head for the Stilinski residence.

“My father isn’t home, we’ll be fine.” Stiles insists, leading Derek in through the kitchen door.

“Oh, I’m not, am I?” An all too familiar voice breaks from the dining room table.

Shit.

**-Ω-**

“What did you do?!” Melissa demands, glaring furiously at her only child. “Why is Stiles saying you abandoned him, and something about torture?!”

Scott has the decency to look abashed as his mother glowers at him. “I was with Allison, okay? Me, her, Deaton, and Chris were all coming up with a plan to deal with her grandfather, and I guess Stiles got caught by Gerard while he was trying to help Derek.”

“So, what you’re saying to me is that you let your best friend be captured by evil werewolf hunters while you were sneaking around behind his back?” She deadpans.

“It’s more complicated than-“

She raises a hand to silence him. “No, Scott, it really isn’t. You’re a werewolf dating a werewolf hunter, and that’s a pretty profound act of stupidity on your part, but that? That takes the cake, leaving your friends to be tortured!”

“Mom!” He protests. “Allison isn’t like that, she’s not Gerard or Kate! They only hunt wolves who hurt people!”

“Scott Andrew McCall, I raised you better than this. You said it yourself, you could hurt me if I pushed you too far, or caught you too close to the full moon. What happens then? Even if you don’t kill me, you think Chris won’t blink to put you down after you’ve hurt someone?” She demands.

The only response is Scott glaring at the floor with clenched fists like a toddler.

“I thought so. Now, I’m not dumb enough to try and control who you see, but I can see to it that it doesn’t happen here. From now on, Allison is banned from this house, same for her father. I want no part of this, and I won’t help you get yourself killed.” Melissa sharply orders.

For a moment, Scott gapes in shock at his mother. Then, he turns and storms off like a petulant toddler. Melissa collapses onto the couch, and sighs into her hands. She needs a fucking drink.

**-Ω-**

“Heeeeeey, Dad…” Stiles trails, looking awkwardly at his father. “What are you doing here?”

“My squad car decided to shit itself, and I had to take it to the shop.” John Stilinski says. “Decided to take the rest of the day.”

He gestures to the werewolf next to him. “You remember Derek?”

“Vividly, and in handcuffs.” The Sheriff deadpans.

“You cleared him yourself. Said he was a victim in this, as well, if I recall correctly!” The younger one exclaims.

 “That doesn’t mean I approve of him sneaking into my house with my very underage son.”

Both Derek and Stiles wear matching looks of shock at that remark, and scramble to explain it away.

“No, Dad, it’s not like-!” Stiles begins.

Derek rushes in. “Sheriff, I would never-!”

“Both of you, shut up!” John snaps. “Now, Stiles, care to explain why there’s a former homicide suspect coming into my house with you?”

The teenager swallows. “Well, we were gonna do some planning for his loft. Since he’s getting custody of Isaac, I figured I’d help him out with getting the stuff he needs.”

The Sheriff raises an eyebrow. “You’re taking in Isaac Lahey? Why?”

“He’s an old family friend.” Derek smoothly lies. “I knew his brother Camden really well back in the day.”

“Since when are you friends with Isaac, anyway?” He directs to his son.

“A few months, Dad. I’m allowed to have friends outside of Scott, aren’t I?” Stiles growls, sounding more than a little hostile, and Derek picks up on the way his heart skips a little at even saying Scott’s name.

“Just wondering, no need to get angry.” John raises his hands. “Go do what you have to, but if you’re gonna be out all night I want a call.”

Stiles visibly relaxes. “Okay. Thanks, Dad.”

“And Derek?”

“Yes, Sheriff?”

“I’ll be keeping a close eye.” He promises.

The two finally retreat upstairs, and Stiles collapses onto his bed the second the door clicks into its frame.

“That was physically painful.” He moans. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know he’d be home.”

“I should’ve been paying more attention.” Derek says.

Come to think of it, he can’t really figure out why he hasn’t been more aware of his surroundings when he’s been around Stiles. Perhaps it’s just a protective instinct making him zone in on Stiles at the cost of his external awareness. After seeing him injured, he’s certain felt far more defensive of the human, and he can see how that might leave him a tad distracted.

“I’m gonna have to toss my bat into the yard.” Stiles groans, going to grab the Louisville slugger from where it rests against the wall. Sure enough, he throws the tan weapon out of his window into the front yard.

“Anything else we need?” Derek asks.

“Yes.” He replies. “iPad, laptop, notebook. Photo of the board.” He gets out his phone, snapping a picture of his pin board before flipping it back over to its blank side. “Change of clothes, and… good to go.”

“Why the change of clothes?” The werewolf puzzles.

“You guys tend to bleed on me a lot. Better I not have to explain bloodstains to my dad.”

Derek nods, now understanding. “Agreed.”

“Come on, big guy. We should get out of here.” Stiles says, packing the last of his items into a backpack. “Satomi will be here in an hour, and it’s almost dark.”

The two depart back for the loft, with Derek circling back to grab the bat as Stiles says goodbye to his father. They drive back in relative silence, the energy building as the sun drifts off and the moon really begins to glow over the town. They pull into the parking lot of Derek’s building just as the last of dusk gives way to nighttime proper, and head up to where Isaac and Erica already wait for them.

“You’re sure that’s the way you took? That you came from _there?”_ Isaac asks her just as they walk in.

“Positive. It has to be there.” Erica insists.

“What’s happening?” Derek asks as he and Stiles walk in.

“I remember the way I ran to get here. I think I know where Boyd is.” She says.

“Where?” Both Stiles and Derek ask at the same time.

Erica takes a shuddering breath. “The old Beacon Hills bank.”

Derek seems taken aback by the answer. “Hmm.” He sits at the desk, suddenly deep in thought.

“Where they kept us, it… it felt like the moon wasn’t there. Days and nights meant nothing, and I couldn’t feel the pull anymore. It was like going crazy.” She continues.

“Hecatolite.” Derek suddenly says. “It’s why I can’t follow the bond to Boyd, and why I can’t feel Peter.”

“Whatawhatlite?” Stiles asks.

The alpha stands up. “Hecatolite. Moonstone, it messes with wolves’ connection to the moon. Erica and Boyd were being kept in a room lined with moonstone.”

“That… makes sense.” Isaac interjects. “I was there once before it closed, they had that stuff in like, chandeliers and all over the place.”

Derek’s phone suddenly breaks into the marimba ringtone, and he answers on the first ring. “Hello?”

He listens for a moment, and then speaks again. “Okay, thank you, Satomi. I’ll see you shortly. Yep. Goodbye.”

“Well?” Stiles asks.

“Fifteen minutes, and they’ll be here. Where are Lydia and Jackson?”

“On their way, I’m sure.” Isaac says.

They sit, anxiously waiting for Jackson, Lydia, and Satomi and her pack. Eventually, there’s the sound of several cars pulling to a stop, and Derek can hear eleven heartbeats. Satomi and her people have arrived.

“Call Lydia and Jackson.” He orders, and Stiles and Isaac respectively comply.

Derek goes to greet the visitors as the two boys listen to their phones ring and ring before each cuts to voicemail. They each leave a message asking for a call back, and Derek returns, trailed by Satomi and her betas.

“No answer?” He asks, concern plain on his face.

Stiles grimly nods. “Neither of them.”

Cole steps forward. “Derek said you think they’re hiding out at the old bank. We should proceed there.”

“What about them?” Erica queries.

“They wait for us here if they get here. If not, we’ll find them.”

“Not to say what we’re all thinking, but… what if the alpha pack got to them?” Stiles asks.

“A possibility.” Satomi says. “All the more reason to get to the bank and rescue everyone.”

“She and Cole are right.” Derek says. “Let’s get going. Stiles, Erica, Isaac, with me.”

They all disembark. The car ride is tense, the only sounds being Stiles’ leg twitching and him rubbing along the smooth surface of the bat, Erica fidgeting with her hair, and the sound of leather against leather as Isaac keeps fidgeting in his seat. Twenty minutes later, the caravan of four cars and fifteen people pulls to a stop in old Beacon Hills, and they all gather outside the bank.

“Stiles, keep with me.” Derek orders. “If I say run, you run, and you don’t stop until you get out of here. Don’t argue with me, just go. Got it?”

“I’m not gonna abandon you, Derek!” He protests.

“No, Stiles, you need to listen to me. This isn’t like Peter, this isn’t the Darach. They will kill you, or worse. If and when I say run, you run.”

Stiles swallows, and nods. Derek and Satomi take point, trailed by Cole, Stiles, and Isaac. Erica and the rest of Satomi’s betas follow in after them, taking in the vast darkness of the old building.

“It smells like wolf in here, alright.” One of the betas remarks. “Four, at least.”

“Quiet, Lana.” Satomi orders. “Into the basement, everyone.”

Once in the bowels of the old bank, they find the den. There are old mattresses spread about, suitcases with clothes, and a duffel bag loaded with at least several hundred thousand dollars inside of it. On the far wall, an enormous door is barred shut, the ancient door to a vault with the tumbler long ago removed and now held shut by massive steel girders rigged over it.

“Well, isn’t this a lovely surprise?” A crisp British voice breaks across the echoing space. “Satomi, old friend, and young Derek, the last of the Hales.”

Horror crosses the Japanese woman’s face as she takes in the man marching towards them, wearing sunglasses even in the dark.

“No, I won’t… I can’t believe it.” Satomi says in shock.

“Oh, sweet Satomi, believe it.” The man says, removing his glasses to reveal a pair of glowing red eyes. A second wolf, a huge beast of a man appears at his left, holding a bloodied Jackson against his chest, his claws held to his throat. Three other wolves step in, a beautiful woman who holds Lydia in a way similar to the enormous man, and a pair of twins, one of whom holds, shockingly, Danny Mahealani.

“Why do you have him?!” Stiles suddenly demands, stepping forward. “Let him go, he’s got nothing to do with any of this!”

“Case of wrong place, wrong time.” The twin holding him says, pressing a claw to his throat heard enough for a bead of blood to run down his neck. “Just so happened to swing by as we went to pick these two up.”

“Stiles?! What’s happening?!” Danny yells, but the twin holding him snarls at him to be quiet.

“Deucalion, what are you doing?!” Satomi demands, sounding absolutely heartbroken. “What have you done?! Ennis, Kali, this isn’t you!”

“We’re only doing what nature intended, growing our power.” The man, Deucalion, replies. “We’ve been waiting for this moment, for our revenge.”

Derek growls. “This is unnatural! An alpha is supposed to lead their betas, not kill them!”

“An alpha is only as strong as his weakest beta.” Deucalion says. “I have taken the weakness away, and given myself all the strength. I am the alpha of alphas, the apex of apex predators!” He crows triumphantly.

“Where is Boyd?!” Erica demands, flashing her own eyes and claws.

“Perfectly fine, though for how long, I can’t promise.” He says. “I must admit, you were very impressive to escape like that, my dear. You eluded one of the best trackers I’ve seen in nearly seventy years of life.”

“She made the mistake of coming back.” Kali says. “I won’t let her away again.”

“Now, now, darling Kali.” Deucalion tuts. “We’re killers, not animals. Why don’t we show Derek the little gift we have for him?”

He walks over to the vault, ripping the enormous bar off its resting place with one hand, and guiding the huge door open, the moonstone interior glinting softly in the dim light of the basement. He steps in, and comes back out, throwing Boyd and another figure to the floor.

“Seem familiar?” He asks. “You should recognize family, after all.”

“What are you talking about?!” Derek demands.

“Then again, it has been so long.” Deucalion continues, bending down to lift the figure. “Six years, to be precise. Say hello, Cora.”

Derek staggers back like he’s been punched in the gut, enough so that Stiles has an arm around his waist to keep him steady.

“C- Cora?” He whispers brokenly. “No… no, Cora died in the fire.”

“Wrong!” Kali laughs, sounding unnervingly delighted. “She’s been hiding in South America for the last six years, until she heard about a new Hale pack. Imagine her heartbreak to meet us, instead.”

“Let her _go!”_ Derek bellows, instantly going into the beta shift.

Boyd stirs on the floor, forcing himself to his hands and knees. “Erica…” He calls out.

“What do you want?!” Cole demands.

“Simple.” Deucalion says, grinning softly. “For Derek to join us.”

If Derek had a response for that absurdity, it’s lost as the entire room is filled with a blinding light and deafeningly high pitched whine. When Stiles is even half capable of seeing again, all his eyes can see is chaos as he staggers to his feet. An arrow flies so close to his head he can feel the rush of wind as it goes by him, and he looks and sees none other than Allison, bow in hand.

Across the room, Erica is helping Boyd stagger to his feet as Derek embeds his claws in Deucalion’s sides, only for the brute called Ennis to rip him off of his quarry. Lydia is glowing with magical light, screaming in what he thinks is probably Greek as the two twins rush towards her. Kali has her hand around Danny’s throat as Satomi is engaged in hand to hand combat with… Deaton?! The Druid fights against her with a brilliance that blurs into art form, and Stiles watches rapt as they spar. Chris Argent is springing in action across the room, charging at Cole, and then, of all people, Scott has to rush into his face.

“Stiles, you gotta go!” He yells, eyes golden and his face stained with flecks of blood.

Rage floods him as he looks on his former best friend. “What are you doing?!”

“Dealing with this shit!” Scott yells. “Now go!”

Stiles goes to protest, maybe even hit him, but he’s beaten to the literal punch by Jackson, who slams into Scott with enough force to send them both skittering across the room. Allison scrambles for an arrow, but Stiles is quick, pulling up the bat and swinging it, knocking the bow out of her hands. Shock, followed by anger crosses her face, but she instead dives for the bow rather than deal with him.

Derek sprints over, with the Cora girl leaning against him. “Take her!” He yells, pressing the keys to the Camaro into his hand. “Take her back to the loft, now!”

Stiles wants nothing more than to say no, but he remembers the promise he made. He nods once, and helps Derek ease the girl so her weight leans against him, and he is ushering them both out as fast as he can, ignoring the screaming and snarling from behind him as the two of them break for the Camaro. He sprawls Cora out into the back seat, and then scrambles for the front. After fumbling the keys twice, he finally gets the key into the ignition, and turns the engine over.

Stiles rips out of the parking lot pushing ninety miles per hour, and does not look back, even as the sounds of the fighting ring in his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow did that escalate quickly. Your reviews excite me, and I have plenty of ideas bouncing around, some even from your guys’ reviews! Kudos me, validate my attention seeking ass!


	4. Face Stained in the Ceiling

Stiles stumbles into the loft, Cora leaning heavily against him. He deposits her on the couch, and then joins next to her. She looks at him with glazed over eyes and smiles wanly.

“Hi.” She whispers. “I’m Cora.”

“I’m Stiles, it’s a pleasure.” He replies.

She falls asleep only seconds later, still under heavy sedation and doubtlessly exhausted. Stiles rises, he entire body thrumming and wound tight as an eight day clock. He paces the loft, waiting for some word to come. Eventually, there’s a burst of activity just outside the door, and he flies across the room, pulling the doors open to have everyone spill into Derek's loft.

“Jesus Christ!” He yells as the wolves flood into the room.

Derek and Lydia carry a bloodied and unconscious Danny, and Jackson, his face marred by a long stretch of claws, supports a barely conscious and equally clawed up Boyd with Erica. Satomi and Cole, both a mess of blood and dirt, help other wolves who are themselves wounded into the loft. Instantly, the chairs and couches are all filled, with Danny being carried upstairs to Derek’s bed.

“What happened?!” He frantically demands of Isaac, who limps in with another wolf.

“It all went to shit. Satomi lost three of hers, and Deaton went rogue on all of us. God, I didn’t know he was that dangerous.” He shudders.

Stiles swallows thickly. “And Scott?”

“Alive, though I’m tempted to change that. Go see Derek, he’s worried about you.” Isaac says.

Without question, he’s sprinting up the rickety spiral stairs to see where Derek and Lydia work over Danny.

“You have to, Derek. I can’t keep him alive like this, he needs it!” She insists.

“I won’t steal his humanity from him.”

“It’s that or his _life._ Do it, or I’ll find someone who will!”

Stiles reaches the side of the bed, and sees the long, bloody gash that runs up Danny’s side, bleeding out onto the sheets in copious amounts. He sits on the edge, and looks up at the two of them.

“Please, Derek.” He begs. “Don’t let him die.”

Derek appears deeply torn for a moment, but then his eyes glow brilliant crimson. Grabbing Danny’s wrist, he leans down to whisper something in his ear, and then lets his fangs grow out, and clamps down on the flesh of his forearms, his already radiant eyes glowing brighter for a moment as he bites deep, deep enough to turn.

Lydia sags in relief. “Thank you. I’ll keep him stable long enough for the bite to take.”

Stiles stands up, and looks at Derek for a brief moment before he’s being swept into a bruising hug as the alpha burrows his face into the crux of his neck and marks him with his scent. He instantly melts into the embrace gripping Derek just as tightly.

“I know, big guy. I know.” He whispers. “I’m okay.”

“God, I was so worried for you. I kept counting everyone to make sure no one had left to follow you.” Derek says.

Stiles pulls out of the embrace to meet Derek’s eyes, and, for a moment he wonders what it would be like to kiss him, but the sensation is fleeting. Instead, he asks the question he’s wondered since the basement.

“Who is that girl?”

Derek swallows, and takes a shuddering breath. “My sister.”

Stiles feels like he’s been gut punched. ”I thought only Peter survived the fire!”

“I guess not. If anyone could have made it out, it’s her. She was always bending into places no one else could fit, a natural survivor.” He replies.

“Are we- are we sure she’s who she says she is?” The younger man asks. “Derek, she would’ve been what, ten? That’s a long time.”

“It’s her. I can smell her, I remember her scent. It’s Cora.”

Stiles nods. “That’s all I needed. I just… I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

In the midst of all the commotion, Cora has finally woken up, and is sitting at the desk as Satomi’s pack buzzes around her to try and heal their wounded. The two men make their way over, and she looks up at her older brother.

“The night of the fire, I was just small enough to fit through the grates on the basement windows.” She says. “Mom told me to run and not stop, and that I had to get to a safe haven in Tefé, Brazil. She gave me her credit card, and told me to do whatever I had to get there.”

“The day after the fire…” Derek whispers. “There was a charge at San Francisco International, a flight to Brazil.”

Cora nods. “I found another wolf in Santa Cruz, she helped me get down there. When a pack was traveling through a few weeks ago, they mentioned a Hale was building a new pack in Beacon Hills. I thought it was Laura, but… but she’s gone, isn’t she?”

The elder Hale nods. “She is.”

“And they killed Uncle Peter.” She says.

 _“What?!”_ Derek and Stiles simultaneously demand.

Cora regards them with haunted eyes. “A few days after they captured me, he turned up. I guess he tried to cut a deal with the alpha pack, but they didn’t appreciate him using magic to bring himself back from the dead. Deucalion said it was unnatural, that blood magic was godless. They made me watch them rip him apart…” She says the last part as a whisper, tears brimming in her eyes.

Sensing that this is a talk best had without another pack present, Stiles redirects.

“Listen, Cora, this place is gonna be insane all night, we got a lot of hurt people, and I don’t think they’re leaving any time soon. Maybe you should stay at my house tonight. I have a guest bedroom, there should be no problem.” He offers.

The wolf shakes her head. “No, I’m not leaving my brother.”

“Cora.” Derek says. “Go with Stiles. He’s pack, you can trust him. He’ll bring you first thing in the morning, right?” He directs the question to the human.

“As soon as we’re both up.” Stiles promises.

Looking conflicted, Cora eventually nods. He helps her up, and offers to help her across the room, but the werewolf manages to walk with only a bit of a limp and the two are gone, slipping out the door as the other wolves rush inside. Watching the two of them leave makes Derek feel like a part of his heart left with them.

**-Ω-**

“Welcome to Casa Stilinski.” Stiles gestures to the simple two story colonial, with its white siding, black roof and aura of homeliness. “It’s two in the morning, my dad is asleep for a shift he has at seven. We can just go right in. There’s a guest room you can crash in, just lock the door while you’re in there.”

“This place stinks like human.” Cora complains.

Stiles chuckles. “Your brother says the same thing a lot. No denying your relation.”

“Didn’t stop you from trying back at his loft, though, did it?” She snarks.

“I’m looking out for him.” He replies. “You can understand why someone claiming to be his long-dead sister might be worth checking at more than face value. But Derek says you’re the real deal, so I believe you, and, more importantly, I believe him.”

“That’s all you need, is Derek’s word?”

“He’s the alpha, and my friend. I trust him, and I trust his judgment.”

Cora looks at him studiously. “Is that all there is to that?”

“What else would there be?” He asks, confused.

“Even when I knew him, boys and girls fell all over themselves trying to impress Derek.” She states. “I can understand why you would like him.”

“What?! No!” Stiles frantically proclaims. “I don’t like Derek. I mean, it’s not like he isn’t attractive or- oh! Look, we’re just friends, that’s all there is to it.”

The young woman chuckles. “I don’t need to be able to hear your heart to know you’re lying. Good night, Stiles.” She says, grinning at him as she shuts the door to the guest room.

**-Ω-**

Jackson sighs as he paces the floor of the loft. It’s just before sunrise, and the last of Satomi’s people left fifteen minutes ago, departing to bury their dead and finish their healing at home. She promised she would come to their aid again if needed, but Satomi made it clear that Derek had a mess of his own to deal with in Scott, Deaton, and the Argents.

“Pacing won’t make him heal any faster.” Isaac snaps. “We’ll know soon enough.”

Erica scowls at the pale boy. “Have a little heart, Isaac, his best friend could be _dying.”_ She barks, even as she rubs at Boyd’s head where it rests in her lap.

He gives a dark glare to Isaac, but does not speak, instead heading for the stairs and up to where Lydia softly murmurs in Latin and Greek over a still-unconscious Danny.

 _“Μείνε μαζί μου, Danny.”_ She whispers in his ear.

“What are you saying to him?” Jackson asks.

Lydia looks up, softly smiling. “Just making sure he stays here.”

“I don’t think he’s going to be running anywhere anytime soon.” He says with a grim chuckle.

In a lounge chair in the corner of the little setup, Derek sleeps with his head leaning against his hand, his legs tucked underneath him. Jackson gestures over to him, and speaks to his girlfriend.

“Tonight was a lot on the poor guy, huh? Gets the sister he thought was dead back, but finds out his uncle is dead. He must be exhausted.” He remarks.

“I know, I can’t even imagine what he’s feeling right now.” She says back, even as she continues to wordlessly conjure over Danny.

Jackson hesitates for a moment. “Do you think he’ll be okay?”

“I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “Even if he won’t, he wouldn’t tell us.”

“Why doesn’t he trust us with that?” He asks.

Lydia looks analytically at Derek. “He has this notion of what an alpha is, and who they’re supposed to be. He and Laura never dealt with any of their shit from the fire, and now Derek doesn’t know how to show emotional vulnerability with his pack. The last time he truly let someone in, she slaughtered his family. You’d have a hard time trusting people, too.”

“When you put it like that…”

“We’ll be better, though. We’re not going to betray him.” She says with deep conviction.

**-Ω-**

The next morning, Roscoe putters into the lot outside of Derek’s building sometime past nine, and Stiles and Cora venture up to the loft. The minute the dingy service elevator reaches the top floor, Derek is in the foyer, trailed by the rest of the pack. He looks more relaxed than he has in months, and gives a wide, genuine smile when he catches sight of Cora. The sight of that smiles makes something in Stiles’ stomach clench, but he files the feeling away to be dealt with when there are less pressing matters. Compartmentalization is key.

“Hi, Derek.” Cora says, smiling but still uncertain.

Derek makes the decision for her, rushing over and pulling his sister into a tight hug, burying his face in her neck as she does the same. The two stand for entire minutes, wordlessly embracing as tears flow down both of their cheeks, and the pack just watches, maybe even tries to hide a few tears of their own.

“All these years…” He whispers to her. “If- If I’d known, Cora, I swear, we would’ve been down there in a second to come get you, you know we would have, right?”

The younger Hale smiles up at her brother. “I didn’t want to be found. I knew you guys were out of the house, but I didn’t look for you. We were in danger, it was better for us to stay apart.” She says. “It’s not your fault I was too good at hiding.”

“It doesn’t matter, you’re here now.” He says. “We’ll be okay.”

The group proceeds inside, and Stiles immediately turns to Lydia. “How’s Danny?”

“Still asleep, but he’s pulled through.” She says. “The window for rejection’s closed. He’s a wolf now.”

“Thank God.” He sighs in plain relief.

Lydia plants her hands on her hips and cocks an eyebrow. “Oh, and who stayed up all night keeping him stable?”

“And thank _you_ , Lydia.” He adds, smiling at her with his best puppy dog eyes.

“That’s better.” She says. “Come see him.”

The two head upstairs, where Danny still lays on the bloodstained sheets. He looks much the same, but more… perfect. A little scar above his eyebrow that he often complained about is gone, and his face is just ever so slightly more symmetrical. Most importantly, his caramel skin is radiantly glowing with a healthy flush, which is a marked improvement to the bloodstained pallor he’d had when Lydia and Derek brought him in.

“You do good work, Doc.” Stiles quips. “Should we wake him?”

Derek appears from behind them. “No. Let him rest until he’s ready. Waking him up might just get him upset.”

“Jesus, Sourwolf, don’t do that!” Stiles gasps as he’s caught off guard by the alpha’s sudden appearance.

“He’s right, though.” Lydia remarks. “Best to let him wake up on his own terms.”

The three of them drift back down to where Erica, Boyd, Isaac, and Jackson wait. Derek marches over to the desk, and they all crowd around while he leads them in a kitchen table war council.

“Alright, we need to start to consider our next steps. We don’t know where the alpha pack has gone, but I doubt it’s in town.” He begins.

“What about McCall and his hunters?” Erica asks with an air of disgust. “I owe Allison a throwing knife in the stomach.”

“I’m going to talk to Deaton.” Derek says. _“Alone.”_

All of them immediately speak up, voicing fierce opposition to the idea, but he raises a hand, quieting his pack.

“He’s going to feel threatened by all of us showing up at once, and that’s not something I want. I’ll go alone, and you’ll all wait here. I promise, I will check in every ten minutes I’m with him, and when I leave.”

Stiles crosses his arms. “Maybe it’s time I talked with Scott.”

“You’re definitely not going alone to that one, Stilinski.” Jackson says. “Derek can hold his own, you can’t, not against a wolf.”

“Aw, Jackson, I’m touched.” He says, clutching at imaginary pearls. “I knew you cared!”

“Don’t make me regret it.” The teen fires back.

“What about Danny?” Boyd asks. “His alpha should be here when he wakes up.”

Isaac snorts and mutters to himself. “Now he cares about pack.”

The larger beta turns to him. “Something to say, Isaac?”

Almost immediately, Derek is between them. “No. Not now. Isaac, let it go. Boyd, you, Erica and I will have words later. When enemies are at the door, we close ranks. We do not fall apart with infighting, am I clear?”

Shortly after, they break, and everyone heads to do their own thing. Lydia and Jackson wait by Danny’s bedside, while Derek and Cora go into the kitchen to talk. Erica and Boyd head out onto the balcony, leaving Stiles and Isaac alone in the living room. The two sit in an easy kind of silence, watching some cheesy action flick on Derek’s television, before Isaac speaks up.

“So… what’s the story with you and Derek?”

“What?” Stiles asks, confused.

The wolf gives him a strange look. “Come on, Stilinski. You’re telling me there’s _nothing_ happening there?”

“Oh my God, Isaac, no.” He stresses. “That is a negative, good buddy. Dead. Deader than a doornail. In fact, so dead that a doornail is quite lively in comparison.”

Isaac gives an appeasing look and raises his hands. “Alright, alright. No need to get testy. Just curious. It seemed like you two have been awful close of late, I guess I was wrong.”

The conversation comes to a lull, but Stiles is left mulling over the aftertaste of Isaac’s questions. Could he see himself with Derek? Well, on some base level as a hormonal teenager who’s been aware of his own bisexuality since the age of thirteen, of course he could. Derek is the kind of hot that cripples your self esteem, and has abs to make Adonis weep. Stiles would love to be _all up in that._

But in terms of emotional fulfillment? Could Stiles and his issues ever be compatible with Derek and his? Could the two of them really exist in terms of domesticity and comfort, without danger and death threats? That’s the question, along with, of course, is Derek even interested in guys? But, even as he’s finishing filing away his feelings for Lydia to the past, a new rose of hope blossoms in his chest.

**-Ω-**

The Camaro pulls into the vet clinic parking lot sometime around twilight. Derek doesn’t even bother knocking or announcing his presence, he knows Deaton has all manners of magic to tell him exactly who’s coming onto the land of the clinic. He walks inside, letting his eyes burn alpha red.

Sure enough, Deaton is already in the lobby, an appeasing, if offputting grin on his face. “Alpha Hale, to what do I owe the honor?” He asks, voice all warm and friendly as his hands already form the complex shapes needed to wordlessly cast magic.

“Cut the act, Deaton.” He snaps. “And lose the hands. I’m just here to talk.”

“Talk, then.”

“Why did you attack us last night?” Derek demands.

Deaton has the grace to look slightly abashed. “The sudden appearance of two packs in Beacon Hills, especially one so large as Satomi’s, was cause for concern. Scott and Chris both felt action was worth taking, and, as soon as we realized we were dealing with an alpha pack, Chris and Allison insisted we attack. And you know the young, so… _eager._ Things got unfortunately out of hand.”

“And when you realized that we were on the same side?” Derek deadpans.

“It was too late.” The Druid says. “Satomi’s pack didn’t know me, or Scott, or the Argents. I regret that I had to end that young man’s life, but he would have done the same to me.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “God, you’re so full of shit, it’s not even funny anymore. The neutral arbiter act went stale a long time ago, Alan.”

“All things in balance.” Comes the cryptic reply.

“What is balance, Deaton? Is it peace, or is it just the _right amount_ of chaos?” He asks, now suddenly closer to the veterinarian.

“I don’t see your meaning.” Deaton says, inching away from the werewolf.

Realization and awareness crash down onto Derek like a tsunami. “Well, the way I see it, you were our emissary. You had magical defenses in place on our house, didn’t you?”

“Against magical creatures. Humans came and humans went.” He nervously replies.

“But you knew, didn’t you? Who Kate was, the risk she posed, you knew exactly what was happening. My mother was building real pack relations, she was a leader, she was a powerful wolf. The Hale line is respected in the werewolf world.” Derek snarls, now angry.

“My mother was a threat to your notion of balance. If we centralized, we could eradicate the hunters, we could bring this crazy world to heel. But you can’t have that, because, if we control our fates, and our world, what’s left for you?”

“You’re absurd.” Deaton shoots back, now angry, but his heart beating furiously. “You’re conjuring things.”

“Am I, Alan? Or am I right, did you destroy the most powerful pack on this side of the continent to save your own power? You let it happen, didn’t you? You let them murder my family to save your skin, to save your _power_.”

Deaton takes a steadying breath, and steps into Derek’s space, his hands already curled to cast a spell at a moment’s notice. “Did you come here for a reason, Derek, or just to hurl baseless accusations of betrayal?”

“I did, actually. Keep away from me and mine, and tell the Argents and Scott to do the same. As the alpha of the Hale pack and the controlling power of these lands, I’m telling you now, you are released of your position as emissary to the Hale pack.”

“Years of service to your mother, gone then? No concern for her vision, spitting in the face of her memory?” Deaton calmly asks, even as fury burns in his eyes. “She understood that sometimes things must be sacrificed for the greater good. Talia wasn’t the saint you think she was, Derek.”

Instantly, the werewolf is in his face with a hand curled around the collar of his button up, snarling loudly, fangs bared and eyes blazing. “She was a better person than you _ever_ could hope to be. Last warning, Alan, keep the Hell away from my pack and my business. That includes the alpha pack.”

“I think we’re done here, Alpha Hale.” Deaton says, smoothing his shirt from where Derek grabbed it. “I trust you can see your way out.”

The furious man stalks out of the office, slamming the door shut hard enough to send cracks through the wooden frame on impact. Deaton waits until he can no longer sense Derek’s presence, and then turns back into his office.

**-Ω-**

Stiles looks up at the beige two story house that’s been like a second home to him for years, having walked so that Scott couldn’t hear the undeniable rumble of Roscoe, wishing to, for once, catch him off guard. Jackson is like a silent sentinel next to him, and, for perhaps the first time in his life, he’s grateful for his presence. He walks up the steps onto the porch, and raises a fist, hoping this talk will go better than the last. Finally, he knocks, once, twice, three times, and waits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, Danny, Scott, and the Argents make their appearances, and we deal with the question of Peter. [INSERT STANDARD BEGGING FOR KUDOS AND REVIEWS HERE]


	5. I Am Done With My Graceless Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s a dialogue heavy chapter to get everyone where we need to be for more action.

Of all the people to have to answer the door, of course it’s  _ Allison.  _ Because the universe just can’t cut him a break. The instant she catches sight of Stiles, her expression sours, even more so when she sees Jackson waiting at the foot of the stairs to the porch. 

“He doesn’t want to see you.” She tartly says, crossing her arms. 

Stiles rolls his eyes. “I think he can tell me that to my face.” 

“You’ve made your side clear, Stiles. Now, go away. Don’t make this anything more than what it already has to be.” Allison reiterates. 

“No, Allison.” He digs his heels in. “Let me see Scott.”

In a flash, there is a silver knife pressed to his throat, threatening to break skin, and Jackson is there just as quickly, his claws out and wrapped around Allison’s delicate trachea.

“Try it and I’ll rip your lungs out.” He snarls from behind a mouthful of fangs, eyes blazing blue. 

Scott is down the stairs in the full shift by the time Jackson has finished his sentence, staring in a sort of bewildered rage at the scene before him. In the midst of all of it, Stiles stands there, staring impassively into Allison’s chocolate colored eyes. All he sees there is calculation, and the mask is peeled away. Allison is deadlier, colder, and crueler than any of the others. Chris at least pretends to operate by a code, and Victoria was fueled by rage and hatred. Kate drew pleasure from her sick work, and enjoyed making her prey suffer, and even Gerard had some moral justification for his own form of madness. 

Allison, though? She’s nothing like them. She needs no animus to kill, she just  _ does _ . She’s a machine, and that is what makes her so dangerous. Pity rushes into Stiles as he realizes that Allison is a ticking time bomb that will eventually turn on everyone, even Scott. That’s the thought that makes him stay here with a knife to his throat, the vision of Allison taking a broadsword to Scott in his sleep after he’s fucked her and told her that he loves her, and meant it. 

“We need to talk, Scott.” He says, peering over Allison’s shoulder. “Please.” 

“Let him go, Ally.” Scott says, phasing back to human form. 

“Scott?” She asks, looking back but not letting her knife off of Stiles’ throat for even a second. 

The omega nods. “Go wait upstairs, please.”

With a final glare, Allison steps back, pocketing her knife and retreating up the stairs. Stiles tilts his head to Jackson, who steps back and allows him and Scott some room. 

Scott crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe. “Come back to break my nose again?” 

“I’m here to tell you that you’re playing a dangerous game.” Stiles begins. “Deaton has been lying to you, too, and what you did last night? Those wolves were our allies, they were gonna help us stop the alpha pack. Innocent people died because you jumped the gun.” 

“That pack was  _ Derek’s  _ ally, not mine.” Scott says, sounding for all the world like a petulant child.

Stiles runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “Dammit, Scotty, this is bigger than you and Derek, and any of that. The alphas will kill us  _ all!  _ You don’t have to play kumbaya with us, but for the love of God, just stay clear of it! Do you really want to waste time going back and forth with each other while the real enemy is at our door?!” 

“You’re starting to sound like Derek, Stiles.” Scott says, his voice now accusatory. “Did he send you here?” 

“What?!” 

“Did. Derek. Send. You. Here?” He slowly announciates. 

The human pinches the bridge of his nose. “What the fuck, Scott? Are you really wondering if, after you tried to kill my friends, I’m here as a ploy from Derek?” 

“I didn’t hear a no.”

“No, Scott, Derek did not send me here!” He outbursts. “I’m here to warn you that you’re in real danger, and sitting here going rounds with us only puts  _ all of us  _ in more danger!”

Scott appears deeply conflicted for a brief moment before something in his eyes goes hard as steel, and Stiles realizes the fight is lost, but he does not realize that Scott is about to bring that fight right to him. 

“Well, the way I see it,” He begins. “You’re the reason we’re all in danger.” 

“What?” Stiles whispers. 

“If it weren’t for that night in the forest, I’d still be human. We’d all know nothing about the supernatural. Allison’s mom would still be alive, Jackson, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd would all be human. Danny wouldn’t be hurt, Derek would’ve left a long time ago, the alpha pack wouldn’t have come here, none of it.” He says. “So, Stiles, I’d say that it’s your fault we’re here. It’s your mess. You clean it up, and then you find a way to deal with the blood on your hands, because there is plenty of it.”

From behind him, Jackson is seething, seconds away from ripping Scott to shreds, but Stiles pays him no mind. He’s too busy processing the tsunami of blame that Scott just laid at his feet. Deep inside of himself, something real and tangible absolutely  _ crumbles _ , and the hurt inside is as though he’s just made it out of Gerard’s basement all over again. 

“We’re done here, Stiles. I’m done.” Scott says, and marches back in the house. 

All he can do is stare at the door and gape as his entire world seems to come falling down around him. Finally, with a quivering chin and tears brimming in his eyes, Stiles turns on a heel and marches down the steps, Jackson in tow.

**-Ω-**

Danny remembers pain. A lot of pain. Blood. Screaming, sounds like animals tearing each other to shreds. More screaming, and the feeling of claws shattering his rib cage and tearing open his chest. Blood flooding his lungs, his intestines spilling out over his right hip. Then darkness. Foreign words muttered in his ears, a different, deeper pain in his forearm. The words  _ I’m sorry _ whispered in his ear. 

It stopped hurting after that. It was even… nice. Now, consciousness taunts at the edges of his mind, and he wants nothing more than to burrow deeper into sleep, but no longer. Awareness comes back to him incrementally, first in the silken sheets below his frame, and the sound of heartbeats and footsteps from below him. A deep, woodsy smell like pine, leather, and fire. He can taste the air, concrete dust and metal rebar plain on his tongue. Finally, Danny opens his eyes. 

Above him is a high, vaulted concrete ceiling. Gingerly turning his head, he sees that he’s in some sort of industrial building turned into a loft. Sunlight comes in through a massive foggy window, and he sits up. Downstairs, the footsteps and quiet conversation stops, leaving only the sound of five heartbeats and the television running to fill the room. 

“He’s awake.” A voice that sounds suspiciously like Derek Hale says. 

“I’ll go see him, wait here.” A female voice insists. 

A series of light footsteps marches up the stairs to his left, and a familiar crop of red hair appears as Lydia marches up the steps. 

“Danny, sweetheart?” She stops, leaving him space. “How are you feeling?”

He goes to say that he’s confused, but all that comes out is a dry sort of clicking noise. Lydia crosses the sleeping area, and retrieves a bottle of water from the dresser. She presses it into his hands, and urges him to drink. He does so, and when his mouth no longer tastes like death, he tries speaking again. 

“What… what happened?” He asks. 

“The people who took us… they aren’t people. They’re werewolves.” She begins. “And, uh, so are you, now.” 

Incredulity floods his veins for a moment, until the memories flood back. He can remember those glowing red eyes, the talons and fangs of the terrifying woman who’d snatched him as he waited by Jackson’s house to see what had been up with him lately. More than that, he’s healed. He distinctly remembers seeing his own organs before he lost consciousness, but, upon looking down, all he sees is his own chest, free of scars or any other indicator he’d been gutted like a fish. 

“Are you…?” He trails.

“No, no. I’m something, we just don’t know what yet, but definitely not a werewolf.” Lydia answers. “But a lot of us are. Come on, come see everyone else.” 

The first steps Danny takes are wobbly, but he quickly levels off and finds his balance. Going downstairs, he sees the rest of the pack waiting for him. Erica and Boyd, each wrapped in each other’s arms, smile welcomingly at him as Isaac stands closest, looking uncertain and almost scared, but still smiling gently at him. Derek stands authoritatively, but he has a glint of something like hope in his eyes, and Cora defers directly behind him.

“How are you feeling, Danny?” The alpha asks. 

Taking an internal inventory, he responds. “A little overwhelmed, but I’m okay.” 

“That’s perfectly normal.” Derek assures him. “The most important part is that you’re going to be alright.” 

“What was that yesterday?” Danny asks. “Who were those people?” 

“An alpha pack.” 

“What is  _ that?”  _

Derek sits down, and everyone grabs their own seats. “Among werewolves, there’s a natural ranking system. Alpha wolves have red eyes, lead packs, and can turn humans into werewolves. Betas have golden eyes, are naturally submissive to their alpha, and can’t turn people. That’s you. Omegas are packless wolves.” 

“So… you’re an alpha, and we’re betas?” He asks. 

The other man nods. “Yes. I’m the wolf who turned you, so you’re my beta, and I’m your alpha. We’re your pack.” 

“And this alpha pack is a pack of all alpha wolves? What’s so dangerous about them?” 

“An alpha can become stronger and more powerful by killing betas. But there’s a cost, they become more bloodthirsty. The desire to expand, to kill, all of it, becomes much harder to resist. When a group of these alphas forms a pack, they become more effective at the killing their instincts crave.” Derek explains. 

“They want to kill us.” Erica says, beaming. “But Satomi is gonna help us kill them first.” 

“Life just got a lot more complicated, didn’t it?” Danny sighs, shaking his head. “My parents have got to be worried as Hell.” 

“Go check in with them, we’ll get together soon.” Derek says. “But first, let me add you to the group chat.” 

“There’s a group chat?” 

“Yep. Stiles named it the Wolf Den.” Isaac says. “Since we’re all a little hunted, maybe I should go with you. Not a good idea to be alone, you know?” 

Their alpha nods. “None of us should be alone anymore.”

The two exit from Derek’s loft, and head down towards the streets bathed in sunset gold. Once she’s certain they’re out of hearing range, Erica promptly begins cackling. 

“Oh, Isaac is gonna try to get all over that!” 

**-Ω-**

After a few minutes of walking, Stiles has finally managed to stem the flow of bitter, angry tears from his eyes. Jackson trails behind uncertainly, not quite knowing what to do or say. Finally, he speaks up. 

“Do you wanna talk about that?” He asks.

Stiles doesn’t even look back. “What’s there to talk about? I warned Scott, and he’ll do what he will with what I told him. End of story.” 

“Oh, I don’t know, the part where McCall laid the blame for the entirety of the last  _ year  _ square at your feet.” He says. “Look, I’ve been a major asshole to you for years, but even I thought that was too much.”

“That’s great, my former best friend has sunk to a level so low even our school bully thinks he’s an asshole. That makes me feel so much better.” The human snarks, the quiver back in his voice. 

“Stiles.” Jackson barks, forcing him to look back. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry he did that to you. None of this is your fault, especially not anyone dying. You’ve done the best you can, and that’s better than most of us.”

“I just…” He trails. “I  _ tried _ . I tried so hard to get him to listen, and he wouldn’t. He just went right back into that whore’s arms, buried his head in Deaton’s ass, and pretended it was all okay. He’s so blind, and I hate it!” 

The last words come out as a bellow, and Stiles sits down on the curb, again overwhelmed. Jackson sits beside him, and rests a hand on his shoulder. 

“You’ve done your best, but sometimes, people just don’t want to listen. You have Derek, you have the pack, you even have me. We’ll be here, we’ll listen. If McCall doesn’t want to, that’s his loss.” 

“You’re not much of a consolation prize.” Stiles gives a bleary laugh. 

The werewolf rolls his eyes. “Shut up, Stilinski, I’m trying to have a moment with you here.”

“Sorry, it’s just that you’re such an easy mark.” 

“Now you’re stealing my lines.” Jackson chuckles. “Come on, let’s get you home.” They stand up, and walk down the streets, each feeling some measure of absolution for their sins.

 

**-Ω-**

Stiles is half-asleep at his desk when the squeaking of his window sliding open jars him awake. Before he even looks to see who’s there, his fingers curl around the grip of the bat he keeps within reach, and he is swinging, only to have a hand reach out and catch the bat, stopping it clean in the air. 

“Good swing. That actually hurt to stop.” Derek comments, even as he continues to hold the offending weapon. 

Stiles rolls his eyes, yanking the bat back and leaning it against his desk. “Most civilized people use the front door, and they  _ knock _ .” 

The older man shrugs, nonplussed. “Danny’s awake.”

“I saw. Erica already gave him a nickname in the group chat. Hawaiian Punch, clever.” He replies. “Something else you need, oh alpha, my alpha?” 

“Yeah, actually.” Derek says. “Jackson told me about what happened with Scott. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.” 

“Wonderful.” Stiles insists. “It’s what it is, I’ll be fine.” 

“Your heart says that’s a lie.” 

The teenager shakes his head. “My heart doesn’t know what the fuck it’s talking about.” 

“Stiles, it’s okay to not be okay.” 

“Don’t.” He begins. “Don’t, because I am hanging on by a thread and I cannot break. I can’t be weak.” 

He comes closer. “No one expects you to be anything more than human. We all know much Scott means to you, it’s like you’ve lost a brother.” 

“Derek, don’t.” Stiles begs. “Please, don’t.” Tears have begun to brim at his eyes. “I can’t do this.” 

The alpha pulls him close, wrapping him in a tight embrace, and the younger man shakes with the force of suppressed sobs. Derek rubs soothing circles in his back, and finally, Stiles breaks. He lets the force of those cries out, and lets wave after wave of tears fall onto Derek’s shoulders. Eventually, he’s guided onto his bed, still clinging to the older man. Time passes, how much he cannot say, but Stiles stops crying, just in time to drift off, the warmth of Derek’s arms filling his form and the scent of him clouding his mind like the most powerful incense. His last waking thought is of pine trees and the scent of smoke.

He wakes a few hours later, sunrise just teasing the world as a splash of pink on the eastern horizon. Stiles looks up at Derek, studying him in his sleep, and he’s caught off guard at just how  _ young _ he looks. Without the weight of his consciousness, Derek truly looks his age, all the worry gone, the posturing abandoned in place of the innocence of the sleeping mind. He shifts slightly, which is just enough the stir the older man awake. Neither speaks, but something draws Stiles upwards, until his face is but inches from Derek’s. 

Ever so gently, he presses his lips against the other’s in a chaste kiss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took five chapters, that’s a new record for me. Normally I write and they’re already halfway through foreplay, so this is major slow burn by my standards. Reviews give me a sense of validation, you guys know how it goes. Cheers.


	6. Superposition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to this has been so overwhelming, and I am so grateful, you guys actually do inspire me to write more, and I have taken a lot of comments to heart and considered suggestions. Couples’ chapter, and the longest yet. Suggested, no, mandatory listening is Young the Giant’s ‘Superposition’, from which this chapter takes its title. Sorry for the wait, and, as always, enjoy!

Derek responds to his kiss immediately, gently moving his lips against Stiles’ and bringing a hand up to cup his face. Stiles goes to deepen it, and feels sparks shoot down his entire being as Derek’s tongue meets his, his other hand moving to the small of his back to pull him closer. Pressing his body against the older man’s, Stiles breaks the kiss to gasp as the line of his morning wood rubs along Derek’s leg, sending waves of pleasure singing up his spine.

“Wait.” Derek gasps. “Stiles, wait.”

The teenager pulls back, concern and confusion in his eyes. “What? What’s the matter?”

“Just… I wanna do this slowly.” Derek says. “I don’t- I just… I’m afraid I’m like…”

Kate. Kate, who was Derek’s age when Derek was his age. Kate, who manipulated and abused him until she murdered his family. Stiles doesn’t have the words to convey how much _unlike_ Kate Derek is, but he understands the fear. She preyed upon an emotional vulnerable boy until she could destroy him, and now Derek fears he’s no better.

“You’re not her.” Stiles says, sitting up so he’s straddling Derek’s waist. “You’re not her, and I am not you. I know who you are, and I know you would _never_ take advantage of me.” He emphasizes this by bending down to kiss him once more.

“That said,” He continues. “I understand why you wanna wait. We’ll go slow, okay?”

Derek nods. “Okay.”

“I expect a proper date at some point, though.”

“Dinner at Scopazzi’s, say… tonight?” The werewolf suggests.

“Mr. Big Spender here.” Stiles chuckles. “Come on, the pack is probably worried.”

Derek heads downstairs while Stiles showers and dresses, only to encounter one Sheriff John Stilinski reading the newspaper at the kitchen table.

“Mr. Hale, I was hoping that you’d be up before I left for my shift.” He says. “Take a seat.”

“Look, Sheriff-” Derek begins.

“Ah.” John cuts him off. “I wouldn’t say anything else until I’m done. Now, when last we met, I believe your words were, and I quote, _‘I would never’_ when I suggested that you may be up to something untowards with my son, whom you will remember is _very underage.”_ He pauses to take a sip of his coffee.

“Flash forward to this morning, when I find said underage son using you as a teddy bear in his bed. Now, you can imagine I’m feeling like quite the dumbass, seeing as I took you at your word, and you clearly lied to me.”

Derek rushes to get a word in. “Look, that… that’s a recent development.”

“Recent?” Stilinski raises an eyebrow. “Define recent.”

“Last night recent.” He says.

“You really expect me to believe that? I’ve already caught you sneaking into my house before, and I know you two have known each other for the better part of a year now, so why would I believe you when you tell me that you so happened to become romantically involved with my son the very same day I catch you two in his bed together?”

Derek gestures to the pistol on the Sheriff’s hip. “Why would I lie to a man with a gun?”

John looks to be contemplating for a moment before he nods. “I know there’s something more here. There always is in this town, and I have a sneaking suspicion you and Stiles are in the thick of it. You want me off your back about you and him, you tell me the truth.”

For a moment, Derek considers breaking things off with Stiles for the sake of the secret, but just the thought makes something deep in his gut rebel in anger and fear. Tenuously, he agrees.

“Come to my loft after your shift today. 1238 Centurion Avenue, top floor.” He says. “It’ll be easier to explain things there.”

“I’ll be there. If you’re playing any tricks on me, I’ll have you on statutory charges, and I’ll make sure you get the full four years it carries.” The Sheriff promises.

Derek shakes his head. “No tricks.”

“Good. In that case, I’m off for my shift. I’ll see you this evening, Mr. Hale.”

John walks out of the door, leaving Derek to wonder what kind of mess he’s gotten himself into.

**-Ω-**

The Reyes house is deserted. Erica’s parents are finally in on the secret, as is Boyd’s mother, and they’ve agreed to keep quiet for the safety of their children. The official story is that the two of them ran off together, but realized they couldn’t make it, and so came home. Open and shut case, teenage love birds that skipped town.

Her parents have gone off to work, leaving the house to her and Boyd. He’s reclining on the couch, watching some HBO movie and thumbing through his phone. Leaning against the arch that leads into the room, Erica takes in the sight of her boyfriend, and smiles. Eventually, he looks up, and catches sight of her staring.

“What? Is there something on my face?” He asks.

She walks over, bending down to kiss his forehead. “No. Just… you.” She whispers. “I was so afraid for you, so afraid I’d never see you again. Knowing that they had you while I got away, it killed me.”

“We never have to worry about that again.” Boyd assures her. “We’ll always be together. We’ll always have the pack.”

Erica smiles gently, kissing him on the lips. “We have a family. It’s not exactly conventional, but it’s a pretty good one, huh?”

“Yeah, they’re pretty okay. Not very good at Christmas or Thanksgiving, though.” He jokes.

The blonde settles onto the carpeted floor, leaning against the couch and dragging down one of Boyd’s hands to hold in her own.

“We did a really bad thing, running off.” She whispers. “Derek gave his all for us, and we shafted him. It nearly cost him his life, and ours.”

He sighs deeply. “I know. We were shitty, and ingrateful. That’s why we have to make it up to them. We have to defend the pack, and stop these alpha assholes.”

Turning back to meet his eyes, Erica asks the question she’s been meaning to for some time. “Can we even stop them?”

“We’ll try, baby. We’ll try.” Boyd says, kissing her once more. “Now, let’s watch this movie.

**-Ω-**

“I have half a mind to hex you into next month.” Lydia giggles as Jackson bites at her neck, knowing how ticklish it is.

“Yeah, but I’m too cute to hex.” He laughs back.

Lydia turns, claiming his lips in a kiss. “Shut up and let me cook breakfast.”

The werewolf does as asked, backing off of his girlfriend and sitting at the breakfast nook, thumbing through his phone. Lydia looks away from the eggs she’s magically scrambling to throw a silvery smile to him and then takes a deep breath, looking at the four hundred year old book she’s acquired from a witch two towns over.

 _The Witch’s Cooking Book,_ an original smuggled out of Salem when the actual witches fled the Court of Oyer and Terminer at the height of the trials, has passed around the United States since 1692, resting in the hands of many prominent supernaturals, including two stays in the White House in the personal collections of Abigail Adams and Eleanor Roosevelt, both of whom were rather famous witches. Now, it’s hers.

The book is enchanted to never run out of pages, and has nearly ten thousand recipes. The ink has never faded or worn, and the edges of the paper hasn’t frayed. Even the first recipe, dated to 1657, is as fresh and legible as when it was first written. It’s tradition that whatever witch should possess the book would add recipes to it over the years. Lydia is trying a recipe for a spicy omelette written by Marie Laveau in 1863, and is already trying to figure out which recipe she should add first.

“How’s that witch omelette coming?” Jackson calls.

She rolls her eyes. “It’s not a witch omelette, it’s a hot pepper and ham omelette, genius. And they’re coming along. Quit rushing me.”

“I just can’t believe that lady just _gave_ you a four hundred year old book.” He remarks. “Did you have to pledge your soul to her or something?”

“No, Jackson! It’s a gift, meant to be passed from generation to generation and witch to witch. Someday, I’ll give this to another one, and the cycle will go on. That’s how this works.”

“I dunno, it just seems weird that you guys pass a priceless historical artifact around like it’s a library book.”

“It’s meant to be passed around, it’s virtually indestructible, short of some serious magic.” Lydia defensively states. “It’s an heirloom, and a blessing. They say witches who have the book will become greater in the magical arts.”

He throws his hands up in surrender. “I just hope the eggs come out good.”

The eggs come out better than good, they come out simply fantastic. A perfect balance of salt and spice in the ham and jalapeño peppers, as well as the added kick of cayenne powder. The two teenagers eagerly devour the omelettes, with Jackson effusively praising Lydia’s cooking and the book. After breakfast, they adjourn to the back yard, with Jackson going for a swim in the pool and Lydia working on a tan.

“Lyds?” He calls from the other end. “Come swim with me!”

She debates for a moment, but decides to join her boyfriend in the pool. Wordlessly, Lydia gets up and elegantly dives into the water, resurfacing with a gasp as the shock of the cold hits her in contrast to the warmth of baking like a lizard in the sun. Jackson is on her immediately, sweeping her into his arms and claiming her lips in a kiss. With a chuckle, Lydia breaks off as he kisses along her neck.

“Why do I get the feeling you had an ulterior motive for asking me to swim?”

“Because,” He says between kisses to her skin. “You’re so damn smart.”

“I do have- _oh!”_ She gasps as his hands drift lower. “Neighbors, you know.”

Jackson smirks. “You’re a witch, conjure us a little privacy.”

“Good point. _Κρύψτε μας.”_  She waves her hand in a vague gesture, and a glimmer seems to pass over the entirety of the Martins’ back yard.

“Now, where were we?” She smirks back.

**-Ω-**

“I wanna thank you, Isaac. I really appreciate you walking me home and helping me wrap my head around all this.” Danny says, gratitude more than evident in his voice.

“It’s a lot, I know.” Isaac responds.

The newest wolf nods. “Werewolves, witches, kanimas, _wow._ It’s more than a lot, it’s insane.”

“The world is bigger than we ever imagine it to be.”

The teenagers reach Danny’s house, a relatively plain grey colonial set far back from the road with a huge yard. They walk up the long driveway talking, until they get to the front porch.

“I should probably head back, Derek’ll be expecting me.” Isaac says.

Danny turns back from where he’s halfway through the front door. “Actually, maybe you could stay? I’d just- I’d rather not be alone right now.”

Isaac pauses for a moment, but nods. “Yeah, yeah, I can stay.”

They both go inside the Mahealani residence, which is surprisingly spartan. The entire house is decorated in tasteful greyscale, with plants and only the off small photograph or painting offering a splash of color in the dark house. The lights are all off, and neither can hear a heartbeat or footsteps. They are alone.

Walking into the kitchen, which is spacious and stark, they find only a handwritten note on the counter.

_‘Danny, we figure you’re off getting into trouble with Jackson and Lydia. If we aren’t here, just text us when you get home. Mom and Dad.’_

Isaac raises a brow as he reads the correspondence. “That’s… weird. I know my home life was some kind of fucked, but my father always gave a shit where I was.”

“It’s what it is. They’re both super busy. Dad works in Santa Cruz as a lawyer, and Mom’s a surgeon San Jose. If I go three days without seeing one of them, it’s no surprise.” The Hawaiian shrugs.

“Doesn’t make it right.” He shoots back.

Danny shrugs again, shooting a text to his folks as he does. Slipping his phone into his pocket, he gives Isaac a lopsided grin. “Enough heavy, come see the entertainment room.”

He leads the other werewolf down into the basement, which is an impressively renovated space complete with a bar, enormous UHD television, pool table, and a variety of exercise equipment. Danny plops down onto the large sectional couch in front of the TV and grabs a PlayStation 4 controller from the armrest, turning both the console and the screen on.

“Wanna watch something or play?” He asks, pointing to a second controller. “I have the new FIFA.”

It’s all Isaac needs to sit down and promptly kill four hours.

**-Ω-**

Derek decides to keep his conversation with the Sheriff from Stiles, knowing full well it would ruin the whole day if he were allowed to know just what Derek had planned. Instead, Derek leaves the Stilinski house after a quick breakfast with another kiss and a promise to be there around four for an early dinner. He feels like a proper jackass realizing he has nothing appropriate for a nice dinner, and so makes a run to the nearest mall in Santa Cruz to buy a blazer and button up, along with a pair of black slacks.

Stiles, on the other hand, spends his day in a strange hybrid of abject terror and absolute excitement. He decides on a v-neck sweater he got for his birthday and a pair of artfully faded grey jeans. He fights for nearly twenty minutes with the hair he’s grown out before it finally cooperates, only to see it’s only one in the afternoon. With little else to do, Stiles dials a number he has only just recently acquired.

 _‘Hello?’_ The crisp Japanese accent breaks across the line. _‘Mr. Stilinski?’_

“Satomi, hi. Listen, I had a few questions I was hoping you could answer.”

 _‘I’ll certainly try. What is it you wanted to know?’_ She asks.

Stiles clears his throat and sits down on the couch. “What can you tell me about Talia Hale?”

When four o’clock rolls around, Stiles is only just getting off the phone with Satomi, feeling as though his perspective has been changed quite a bit by the hours long discussion about Derek’s mother. He understood she was a rather impressive figure, even when he met her when he was just a child, but he didn’t understand just how _important_ she was, or the hole that her death left in the growing werewolf community.

The swift eradication of the Hale pack had serious repercussions for other packs. If there was a werewolf royal family, it might as well have been the Hales. They weren’t just old, they were the oldest pack in the entirety of the Americas, having crossed the Atlantic from England in 1632 and lived in Boston until 1789. After that, the Hales headed to New York, where the pack lived in the Adirondack Mountains until 1852, when it was decided that they would again move, this time to the new state of California.

Through all the centuries, the Hales led the loose confederation of werewolf packs, brokering peace and waging war, a shadow government hidden in the nascent American republic. Now, with them gone, old grudges and new fights have resurfaced, threatening all of the progress Talia Hale worked towards in her life. Stiles understands now the weight Derek carries. He is the inheritor of the fate of the lycanthropic world, and what a legacy to be crushed by.

Derek is there, knocking on his front door. Stiles jumps at the sound, and takes one last steadying breath to calm his frayed nerves. He opens the door to find his date looking quite dashing, having shaved his beard back down to a bit of scruff, with his hair styled up and over rather than the usual straight up. He wears a black suit jacket and slacks, and a tasteful dark blue button up underneath, sans a tie.

“Hey.” Derek gives him a small, private smile. “Ready?”

Stiles nods. “Yeah, let’s go.” He says, sounding breathless. “You, uh, you look really good.”

And then, he’s absolutely floored because his stupid comment is enough to make Derek Hale actually _blush._ Derek thanks him, and says the same, and the two are off. They slide into the Camaro and go off, and, finally, Stiles takes the plunge and actually speaks.

“You know, what with all the life saving and general danger, you and I never actually talked about the two of us, as like, people.” He remarks. “I don’t even know if you went to school or if you even have a job.”

“I went to NYU. I have a bachelor’s in political science and an associate’s in English. And, no, I do not currently have a job, I’ve been coasting off of the family fortune.” Derek replies. “What about you? What do you want to be?”

Stiles shrugs. “I’ve always thought law enforcement, but, lately, maybe I want to go into something a little more exotic.”

“Define exotic.” The werewolf asks, now sounding intrigued.

“Well,” He begins. “Lydia knows a witch or Druid or whatever up in San Francisco, maybe I’ll see what she knows. I don’t think there’s any degree program, but maybe I can learn the real story of the world, you know? I figure I can connect the history humans know and the history the supernaturals know, maybe make some sense of it all.”

“That’s actually really cool, Stiles.” Derek says, clearly impressed. “I bet you’ll figure it all out.”

Now, it’s his turn to blush. They find the conversation to flow easily after that, exchanging stories about research and Derek’s college days, and feeling generally like a normal first date. It’s the strangest thing, too, because Stiles expected that all the history, all the death and violence between them would haunt their date, but it’s the opposite. Once they get into the natural flow of conversation, all of that melts away.

They pull into the parking lot outside of Scopazzi’s still in the midst of talking, but the two get out and head into the restaurant. The interior is cozy and intimate, dimly lit and decorated in rich woods and wine colored wallpaper. One of the oldest still-operating businesses in Beacon Hills, Scopazzi’s is a staple for any young couple, offering Italian food to generations of lovers. Inside, they’re sit at a booth, and a waiter drops off menus and promises to come back to collect their orders later.

“So, Derek, they say how a partner eats is an important sign of compatibility.” Stiles remarks.

Derek raises a skeptical brow. “Who is ‘they’?”

“The issue of _Cosmo_ I read in Lydia’s room the other day.” He smirks.

“I know Lydia has enough magical text to fill a good sized library, and you’re reading _Cosmo?”_

The teenager shrugs. “Maybe I want to know a hundred and one ways to please my man.”

Derek chokes on the after he’s taking a sip of, and pulls back blushing, wiping the excess he spilled from the table with a napkin. “Jesus, Stiles!”

“Sorry.” Stiles grins, completely unrepentant. “Seriously though, what are you getting for dinner?”

“I saw they have prime rib.” He remarks noncommittally, but there’s something more to the casual air of the remark. That dinner the first night after his fight with Scott replays in Stiles’ head.

Playing along, he adopts the same flair of casual interest. “Do they?”

Sure enough, when their waiter comes back, they both place an order for the prime rib. Taking a chance, Derek almost sneaks his hand across the table to grab his date’s, and he’s rewarded with a stunning smile for his trouble.

**-Ω-**

After killing those four hours, Danny and Isaac find themselves in the kitchen looking for a snack, when Isaac is struck with an idea so brilliant he almost see the light bulb go off over his head. Grabbing a dish towel from the counter, he throws it at Danny and points at a stool at the island in the middle of the room.

“Cover your eyes with that, it’s time for a little training.” He orders.

“Kinky.” Danny snickers.

Isaac rolls his eyes, but smiles nonetheless. “Seriously, cover your eyes. You’re gonna tell me what it is I’m holding by smelling it.”

The newest wolf does as he’s told, tying the makeshift blindfold over his eyes. His companion heads over to the fridge, and searches for a moment before settling on a gallon jug of milk. He pulls it out from and pops the cap off.

“Tell me what it is I have in my hand.” He orders.

“I’d love to, but I can’t smell from here.” Danny snarks.”

“Think again. Take a whiff.”

He can see the surprise register across Danny’s face when he takes a hesitant inhale and finds that he can sense it. For a moment, Danny struggles to process, but he finally hazards a guess.

“Is that… milk?” He asks, unsure.

“Yeah, good job!” Isaac praises him. “Okay, next item.”

They kill nearly an hour just scenting different things in the house. He trains Danny in the scents of everything from sugar to certain types of potted plants, and how to tell a fresh scent from an older one, as well as some basic tracking. Eventually, Isaac has his charge try and track him. With a five minute head start, he makes it nearly a half mile into the forest and to the wide bough of a pine tree nearly seventy feet in the air.

It takes him nearly fifteen minutes, but, eventually, Danny manages to follow the scent to his location. Jumping down, Isaac claps him on the shoulder with a wide, crooked grin.

“How was my time?” He asks.

“It was really good. When Derek tried this, it took us almost an hour to find him.” The other wolf says.

Danny flashes a million watt smile, and heads towards the house. “Come on, I’m feeling like ice cream.” He calls.

Without hesitation, Isaac follows, pride singing in his veins at how well Danny is doing on his first day in this new life.

**-Ω-**

The coffee and death smell of Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital, cut with undertones of sterile gloves and bleach, fills Melissa’s nostrils as she steps back into her place of work for the night shift. Upon making it to the fourth floor, she’s greeted with the sight of her supervisor, Doctor Curtis Fitz standing with his arms crossed and a reproachful look on his face.

“Okay, I haven’t even clocked in and you’re already glaring, what happened?” She chuckles. “Did the bastard in 22 fling his shit at you again?”

Amusement briefly crosses the doctor’s face. “No. Mel, I’m worried. It’s only Thursday and you’ve already pulled in almost fifty hours.”

“I’ve only worked one double, and I took an hour nap!” She defensively responds. “Curt, come on, you know I need the cash.”

“You also need your health. We’re overstaffed, go home, spend the evening with your kid, get a full night’s sleep for the first time since before nursing school. Doctor’s orders.” Fitz says.

“Curt!” Melissa exclaims.

“Go. You’ve earned an extra day off.” He laughs. “I’ll see you for our routinely scheduled fun tomorrow night.”

Without further argument, she heads back down to the lobby. Despite the resistance to leaving, Melissa is secretly relieved. She really could use the extra sleep, even if her check will be a few dollars short. She doesn’t bother to text Scott that she’s coming back home, figuring he’s either out at Allison’s or moping like he does when he’s not with her.

Her thoughts drift to the discussion with Stiles. He was tortured, and Scott knew, and didn’t help? What on Earth is going through his head. She raised him better than this. Shame floods her core as she realizes that she doesn’t know her son anymore. He hid the truth about his lycanthropy from her for almost a year, even when people were dying around him. Scott has become a stranger with her eyes, a boy pretending to be a man.

Sighing, she drives home, and sees the light on in his bedroom. Good, he’s home for once. Melissa parks, and heads in through the kitchen. That’s when he hears it. Was that a moan? Immediately, her thoughts leap to Scott being hurt, some monster or other jumping out of his bedroom, because apparently monsters are real, and they are in her town. That is, until a second, higher moan echoes through the house, one that was definitely her son’s name.

There may not be a monster in the house, but there’s about to be. Apparently, werewolf or not, Melissa can still catch her son off guard if he’s sufficiently distracted. Calmly, she places her work backpack on its hook in the pantry, and then takes the softest steps possible over to the base of the stairs. Once there, she lets all of the anger  that’s boiling just below the surface come flying out in the form of her idiot son’s full, god-given name.

 _“Scott Andrew McCall!”_ She bellows. _“Get your ass down here!”_

There’s cursing, crashing, and what’s likely the sound of Allison falling on her ass in a scramble to get dressed. When Scott opens his bedroom door, he’s only in a pair of jeans, his hair is a complete mess, and there’s an undeniable flush covering his entire face, down into his neck. Love bites decorate his collar bones, and he looks absolutely bewildered. The moment, however, he catches sight of his mother’s face black with rage, there’s fear in his eyes. She keeps silent until he’s at the bottom of the steps, and then speaks, her voice surprisingly even.

“How dare you?” Melissa begins. “After I explicitly told you I did not want Allison in this house, you smuggle her in while I’m at work? What the Hell is wrong with you, you idiot?”

“Mom!” He protests, suddenly offended.

“Don’t ‘Mom’ me, Scott! I told you to keep her out of my house, the house that you pay _nothing_ for, and you disobeyed me. If I were a real bitch, I’d call John right now and have him take her back to her father’s house with a threat that if she ever showed up here again, I’d have her arrested.”

Scott immediately goes to speak against that, but Melissa holds up a finger and a withering glare. “Allison!” She calls. “Allison, get down here!”

Sheepishly, the younger woman does as obeyed. Melissa glares at her for a moment, and then points at the door. Without a word, she’s gone. The elder McCall goes upstairs and directly into her son’s room, grabbing his PlayStation from the television stand, and his laptop and tablet from the desk, and pointedly ignoring how the room absolutely reeks of sex.

“Mom, what the Hell?!” Scott demands.

“I can’t take away your phone because someone needs to be able to contact you, but I can sure as Hell take away your other toys.” She snarls. “And you can thank your boss for this one.”

Before he can ask, Melissa pulls out a can of Morton Salt with a label that says _‘mountain ash’_ on it. She places the technology in her closet, and then dumps a ring of the ash around it. She sets the container inside the ring as well, and turns to face Scott, who is slack-faced at the sight of his possessions locked away by magic.

“You’re grounding me… with mountain ash?” He asks, stunned.

She nods. “Yep. Two weeks. If I catch her around here again, I’ll make it two months, change the WiFi password, and shut the data off on your phone. Now, I’m gonna strongly suggest you go to bed and try not to piss me off for the next couple of weeks.”

Scott stares at her in disbelief before he turns on a heel and marches to his bedroom. Melissa sits on her bed, and sighs into her hands. Wondering what on God’s green earth has happened to her son, she gets up, and heads for the kitchen to pour herself a glass or four of wine.

**-Ω-**

After dinner, Derek and Stiles find themselves just talking in the parking lot of the restaurant, each leaning against the car and just taking in the summer evening as afternoon drifts into twilight. The two are both grinning like madmen, and laugh as they exchange stories. After a particularly raucous bout of laughter, Derek sobers for a moment.

“I didn’t want to tell you this until after our date, but your dad saw us this morning.” He says.

 _“What?!”_ Stiles screeches.

“Hey, hey! Easy!” Derek scrambles, placing his hands on his shoulders. “He’s not gonna raises any problems, but he wants to know what’s been really happening, so I invited him to the loft tonight. Everyone’s gonna be there, so we can break it to him right.”

Stiles trembles for a moment, before he swallows and takes a steadying breath. “I didn’t want him to have to know.”

“I know, Stiles, you’ve tried to protect him as best as you can.” He responds. “But these things, they catch up with us sooner or later. It’s best we let him know now, on our terms, than when he’s faced with some monster of the week trying to eat him and him not having a clue about it.”

“You’re right. God, I hate that you’re right.” The teenager says.

“He’ll handle it fine.” Derek goes to assure him.

“Or he’ll freak. He may do that.” Stiles interjects.

Derek chuckles and shakes his head. “We’ll be okay.” He says, leaning over to kiss his date for the first time since the morning.

After they break, Stiles looks at him with his pupils blow and a flush coloring his face. “After that kiss, I believe it.” He remarks, sounding breathless.

Derek just laughs, and kisses him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who are curious, since Beacon Hills never gets a solid placement, I use the location of Boulder Creek, California as a reference for both other towns and real places. Scopazzi’s is an actual restaurant in Boulder Creek, and places like Ben Lomond and Loma Mar really exist as well. 
> 
> Also, next chapter the Sheriff gets a Hell of an introduction, Melissa and Chris have a sit down, the alphas come back to make more mischief, and we say our goodbyes to Peter. Reviews fuel my sense of validation, you know how it is.


	7. Brilliance Turns to Ash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay, this chapter had to be dragged kicking and screaming out of my mind, also I’m in a creative writing class, which, while fulfilling, is also creatively exhaustive. Nonetheless, onward!

The loft is filled with a sense of anxious anticipation as the pack paces within its walls. Erica walks back and forth across the balcony outside, not wishing to be seen by the Sheriff if things go badly. Likewise, Isaac and Danny have gone upstairs to Derek’s sleeping quarters to keep their newest beta away from any excitement. Lydia idly works over some papers with Cora as Stiles and Derek conference at the desk, murmuring to each other as they browse through some actual werewolf forums on the dark web. 

“So the last  _ confirmed  _ alpha pack was wiped out in 1916?” Stiles asks as he jots down notes. “But there were rumors some time in the sixties?” 

“Yeah, in Kansas. A lot of dead betas, whole packs wiped out minus a single missing member.” Derek nods. “It says here the killings stopped in 1967, when the whole of Kansas was in a pack war. They must’ve gotten picked off one by one or even just in a single fight.” 

Jackson and Boyd, both of them watching TV on the couch, look up as they catch the sound of the elevator coming up from the lobby. Jackson turns off the television as Boyd goes to flank his alpha. Eventually, all but three who’ve hidden themselves away are all positioned together in the center of the room, all in positions of deference to Derek. Cora is to his left, and Boyd to hers. Most notably, Stiles stands to his immediate right, their fingers laced together. 

The elevator stops with an audible thud and the protest of the old metal doors as they are forced to open. Moments later, three sharp knocks pierce the otherwise dead silence of the loft. 

“It’s open.” Derek calls. 

John Stilinski steps in, his eyes going wide as he sees the group spread out before him. “Jesus…”

“You wanted the truth, Dad. Here it is.” Stiles says. “Derek?” 

The alpha steps forward, and lets his eyes go blazing red. Seconds later, Boyd and Jackson do the same, showing of their respective gold and blue. The Sheriff jumps back a few feet, and his hand twitches towards his gun. 

“It’s okay, Mr. Stilinski.” Lydia says in her most soothing voice. “There’s no danger here.” 

For a moment, he looks as though he doesn’t believe it, but John relaxes. “I want the full story.” He says, going to sit on the couch. “Start at the very beginning.”

**-Ω-**

Melissa waits as the phone in her hand rings, before a gruff male voice picks up on the other end. 

_ ‘Hello?’  _

“Mr. Argent, it’s Melissa McCall, Scott’s mom. I’m sorry for calling at this hour, but I wanted to have a discussion with you about your daughter.” 

_ ‘It’s just Chris. What can I do for you, Melissa?’  _

“I’m sorry to bring this to you, but I know you’re aware of the situation with Allison and Scott, and I just want to stress that, given recent events, Allison is not welcome in my house. More than that, after I told my son a few days ago I didn’t want her in my house, I come home to them together this evening.” 

_ ‘Well, I’ll be sure to discuss this with Allison. I understand, I’m not sure I want Scott around in my house, either.’  _

Melissa sighs. “It’s nothing against Allison, but I feel like she’s not the best influence for Scott at the moment. With all this supernatural shit, neither is good for the other, but forbidding them from seeing one another is just gonna make them disobey more.” 

_ ‘You’re right, unfortunately. Why don’t we meet sometime soon to discuss this in better detail?’  _ Chris suggests. 

“That’s probably a good idea.” She replies. “I’m free sometime tomorrow afternoon, if you’d like.” 

_ ‘I know just the place.’  _

**-Ω-**

It’s nearly two in the morning in Lake George, New York. The small tourist town is just finally drifting off to sleep, and no one notices the caravan of trucks slipping past the gates to Prospect Mountain. They drive up the winding side of the mount, high and towering even among the peaks of the Adirondacks. 

There’s an enormous parking lot near the crest of the mountain, another hundred or so feet below the actual summit. There’s a single black sedan waiting in the empty parking lot, backlit by the waxing moon as it sets. Leaning against the car is a woman with dark hair, who radiates an almost otherworldly beauty. She smiles and steps towards the approaching group of vehicles. 

When they stop, and the driver of the lead truck steps out, she raises a hand in greeting. “Hey, Jim. Safe trip?” 

Jim Argent nods. “Hi, Jen. Uneventful, spare Uncle Gerry back there.”

Going around to look at the ruined form of Gerard Argent, she gives a low whistle. “They did a real number on you, didn’t they? I’m surprised he survived a drive all the way from California.” She addresses the last remark to the general group of hunters. 

“What now?” Jim asks. 

“Finish the drive up to the summit. I can’t get into the temple, but the magic there will hide us. Gods know Morrell keeps some  _ very  _ close tabs on the magic in this region. I don’t need her up my ass. Come on, boys, I’ll finish this up top.” 

With that, Jennifer Blake gets into her car and drives up to the summit of Prospect Mountain, trailed by the hunters. Once there, it takes three men to carry the mutated mass of Gerard onto the outcropping of rock.

“Did you bring what I asked?” She asks them once they’re all situated on the rocks. 

Another hunter nods. “Right here.” He says, popping the trunk of a second sedan to reveal a tied up young woman, drugged unconscious. 

Jennifer smiles, tracing her face with the back of her hand. “She'll do. Bring her to the rock.” 

Gerard lays on the rocks, his limbs flexing uselessly as he takes raspy, laborious breaths. His skin is unnaturally pale, and his entire body is covered with tumors, the cancer spreading and growing in some warped reaction to the combination of the wolfsbane in his blood and the bite of an alpha werewolf. The unconscious woman is held into place over him, kept aloft by two of the hunters. 

The dark Druid procures a wickedly sharp dagger, long and curved like the fang of a snake. The blade glints in the moonlight, the runes carved into it catching the light and shimmering with powerful magic. As new as it appears, one look can tell that the awful thing is profoundly ancient. It radiates with power and dark delight, almost like it’s sentient. 

Pulling from the natural magic of the Adirondacks, Jennifer breathes in and grounds herself into the convergent leylines of the mountain, careful to conceal her presence from any surveillance on the place. When she opens her eyes, they glow a poisonous sort of neon green. 

_ “Σκοτεινή Μητέρα, προσέξτε την κλήση μου. Κάνε ολόκληρο αυτό, καθαρίστε το τέρας από τον άνθρωπο και καθαρίστε την άθλια μορφή του.”  _ She whispers, invoking the darkest spirits she can. “Make him clean.”

Without further prelude, she takes the dagger and slashes the girl’s throat. Copious amounts of blood pour over the monstrous Gerard, sizzling and creating steam wherever it impacts his skin. All at once, the tumors on his skin roil and burst, spraying a hideous mixture of pus and wolfsbane as the poison is forced from him. 

As the crimson waterfall coming from the woman’s throat stutters to a halt as she chokes to death, Gerard’s eyes fly open, his back arching as he gasps in his first uninhibited breath in months, maybe years. For a few moments he flops around, spitting up the blood that’s filled his mouth in the ritual, but he quickly calms, simply laying as the hunters take away the body of the sacrifice and. 

Eventually, his nephew hands Gerard a towel to wipe himself clean, easing him into a sitting position on the stone. “Uncle Gerard?”

“I’m- I’m here.” He says, his voice clearer than it’s been since he was diagnosed with cancer. 

“Good to see you again, Gerard.” Jennifer comments, smiling. “We have work to do.” 

**-Ω-**

“Werewolves.” John Stilinski breathes out in a sort of exhilarated shock. 

“That’s the seventh time you’ve said it, Dad.” Stiles grins. 

The Sheriff looks up at his son, an amazed smile on his face. “I- I know. But, I just…  _ werewolves.”  _

“Eight.” Erica says, smirking from across the room, having come back in from the balcony. 

“My mind guessed the mafia or superpowers, or whatever, but werewolves is some kinda left field.” He shakes his head.

John stands up, and walks over to Derek, extending a hand. “Whatever I can do to help you, son. I’m with you.” He says. 

Derek takes the hand, smiling as he shakes it. “Thank you, Sheriff.” 

“I’m pretty sure you can call me John, considering how close to my son you really are.” 

The comment provokes a series of aborted attempts at protest from Stiles, who eventually just closes his mouth and blushes furiously. As the evening progresses, John gets the rundown on the reality of everything from the Hale fire to more recent goings on, including the ongoing fight with Scott.

The revelation prompts a disappointed  _ ‘I’m sorry, kid.’  _ from the Sheriff, who claps his son on the shoulder. Stiles just nods and swallows thickly, but they go on telling the truth of the past year. As the night runs into the wee hours of the dawn, one by one the pack begins to drift off. Erica and Boyd tangle together on the couch, and Isaac and Danny each slump in one of the chairs. Lydia goes upstairs to sleep in the chair on the balcony, leaving only John, Stiles, Cora, and Derek awake in the kitchen. 

“It’s almost five, I guess we lost track of time.” John yawns. 

“Let’s go home, Dad.” Stiles replies. “We could both use some sleep.” 

Turning to Derek, he leans up to kiss him on the cheek. “I’ll be by later, is that okay?” 

“Tonight, at the old house.” Derek replies. “You need some sleep, too, pup.” He directs the remark to Cora. 

“I’m fi-“ She goes to protest, but is cut off by her own yawn. “Okay, I’ll get some sleep.” She grumbles.

They all say their goodbyes, and head off to their various destinations. 

**-Ω-**

Derek lets the pack loose for the day, leaving everyone to their own devices. By the afternoon, everyone has gotten as much sleep as they’re going to, and Stiles decides he needs to decompress with Starbucks. He shoots a text to Lydia, and waits for her Porsche to pull up in front of the house. Once she does, the two of them talk about literally anything other than the drama surrounding them. By the time they reach the Starbucks in town, they’re both screaming Top Forty songs at the top of their lungs, and laugh hysterically as they exit the vehicle. 

Stepping into the coffee shop, they make their way to the counter and place their orders. Lydia gets a soy milk chai, and Stiles orders a mocha frap. As they wait, a familiar woman steps in, though neither can quite place where they recognize her from. She places her order, and, as she walks by, accidentally bumps into Lydia. 

“Sorry, sweetheart, didn’t mean to hit you.” She says with a smirk. 

For just a bare second, her eyes go alpha red, and then she’s picking up the drink she ordered, which was somehow made before theirs. 

“That was-” Stiles begins. 

“Kali. The one who hurt Danny.” Lydia finishes. “ _ Goddammit.”  _ She swears under her breath. 

Tearing out her phone, Lydia blasts a message into the group chat. 

**LM: We’re being tailed, watch yourselves. The woman from the alpha pack just showed up at Starbucks.**

**DM: Too late. Me n Isaac just saw the twins**

**ER: We ran into sunglasses dude at the mall in santa cruz**

**DH: New rule. No one is ever alone, and I want a wolf on the humans at all times. If you run into an alpha in public, don’t cause trouble, just get away as quick as possible, and tell us every time you see one.**

**SS: Can u see about wolfsbane bullets 4 my dad?**

**DH: Satomi’s staying clear of the Argent mess for now, but she’s happy to give us any material stuff we need. I’ll see about getting a few cartridges for him.**

**SS: Thank u**

Grabbing their drinks, the two teenagers depart, shaken but unharmed. They receive a message from Jackson saying he’ll meet them at the Stilinski residence, so they head there to wait until the evening meet up at the old Hale house. Sure enough, when they pull up to his home, Jackson is waiting on Stiles’ porch. 

“You two okay?” He asks, immediately crossing to Lydia to kiss her on the head. 

“We’re fine.” She replies, even as she hugs him close.

“Come on.” Stiles interjects, unlocking the door and stepping into the house.

As soon as he does, there’s an sense of  _ wrong  _ in the place. Though nothing has been visibly tampered with, he can’t shake the feeling of someone having been there. 

“Jackson, can you smell anything?” He asks.

The blue eyed wolf nods. “Almost. It might be gunpowder or something.” 

_ “Αποκαλύπτω.”  _ Lydia commands. “No one’s here but us.” 

Going upstairs, Stiles peers into each of the rooms, finally reaching his at the end of the hall. That’s when he sees it, and gasps aloud. 

“They were here!” He yells. 

Instantly, Lydia and Jackson are bounding up the stairs, and join his side in the doorway to his bedroom. The entire place is untouched, except for his evidence board. All of the sheets from the web and jotted down excerpts from books are neatly placed on the desk, organized in much the same fashion as they were on the board, and all of the various-colored lines string have been neatly rolled in perfect spheres. The only thing on the board, in black yarn, is the alpha spiral, perfectly symmetrical, right down to the triangles at the end of every arm. 

Taking a photo, he sends another message to the group chat. In fifteen minutes, the  _ entire  _ pack is convergent on his house. Derek practically storms in like a federal agent on a raid, only stopping once he’s reached the offending sign and taken a deep whiff of the air in the room. His eyes go red as he catches the scent of the alpha who was here. It was just one, and it infuriates him. How  _ dare  _ they enter Stiles’ home and mess with his stuff. 

“Hey, Derek, ease up. I can feel the tension coming off you.” Stiles says, laying a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, they didn’t even trash my stuff. They were just doing it to show they can, and to throw us off our game. We can’t let them.” 

“It’s gonna be okay.” Lydia adds. “We’re fine.” 

It’s Cora who speaks up next, to the surprise of everyone. “They’re scared.” 

“What?” Derek turns around, confused. 

“The alphas, they’re scared. Why the change in how they operate? They kidnapped us, before, but now they’re just… taunting. They’re playing head games because they know they can’t fight us and win.” She explains. 

“That makes… a  _ lot  _ of sense.” Stiles says. “I just figured they were doing it because they can, but if they’re trying to throw us off our game, make us weaker, then…” 

Derek picks up the thread. “Then we’re more of a threat than they want to admit. They won’t challenge us head on because they  _ can’t.”  _

The pack heads downstairs after Stiles pulls down the bastardized triskele from his board, all them gathering in the living room. Derek stands at the front of the room, Stiles at his side. 

“So, if the alphas are trying to mess with us and make us weaker, it means we have to close ranks. I was gonna wait until later to tell everyone this, but, like everything else, it seems the decision was made for me.” He begins. 

Pulling up his phone, Derek pulls up an image of rendering of a house with a white façade and brick accents. He passes hands the phone to everyone to pass around. “I’m looking into rebuilding the old house. With Cora and Isaac living with me permanently, the loft isn’t going to cut it anymore.” 

“Derek, that’s wonderful.” Erica smiles at him. “I know hard it is for you with that house, I’m glad to see you’re moving forward with it.” 

“Speaking of, let’s get going. There’s something that needs dealing with at the house.” Derek says, marching them all to the front door. 

**-Ω-**

By the time they reach the Hale house, it is just after sunset, with a nearly-full moon hanging in the sky. There is a sense of dark anticipation building in the air around the burned out home, even as the pack files along behind their alpha. They walk in a cluster along the cracked driveway, and follow an overgrown flagstone path around to the back, where a deep ditch has been dug in a clearing a few hundred feet past the tree line. Inside the ditch are the mortal remains of Peter Hale. 

Cora wasn’t exaggerating when she said that the alphas had literally torn him apart. He is in six pieces, his head, torso, and four limbs all marked with scratches and claws, and the detached body parts are placed roughly together in a way to resemble a whole form. His blue eyes are still open, and stare unseeingly up at the night sky. 

“Jesus Christ.” Danny says, gagging at the sight of the corpse. 

Cora blinks back tears, but remains otherwise stock still, staring with a strange mix of pity and anger at Peter’s body.

“Derek…” Lydia trails. “I can- I can bring him back again.” She says. 

The alpha shakes his head. “No, that’s not what I brought you here for.” 

“It’s an option, that’s all I’m saying. For all his monstrosities, he was your family.” She continues.

“I appreciate it, Lydia, I really do, but it’s time to let the dead die for the last time.” He replies. “I wanted you all here for… God, it’s not a funeral, but it’s the best he’s gonna get.” With that, Derek grabs a gas can from nearby, and solemnly pours the accelerant over Peter’s dismembered corpse. 

He pulls a matchbook from his pocket, and, with glassy eyes and a tremble in his hand, strikes a match and throws it into the ditch. Almost immediately, the entirety of the body is consumed by flame, and the group watches the pyre without saying a word. 

Stiles walks over to Derek, and silently laces his fingers together with the older man’s, looking up and seeing more than just the flames of Peter’s body reflected in his eyes. What he sees in those kaleidoscopic eyes is the memory of the fire that took his family away, and it kills him inside to see Derek forced to relive that pain. 

After a period of time, the flames flicker out, and Peter Hale is little more than a charred pile of bones. There is no coming back from this, as not even magic can undo this sort of damage. Finally, Derek points to where several shovels lean against a tree, and grabs one and starts to move the earth back over Peter’s still-smoking remains. Stiles and Boyd each grab another shovel, and the three men make quick work of burying him. After that, all without speaking a word, they head back, the moon lighting their way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, to make it infinitely clear, this is the end of Peter. As for the events in New York, you’ll see where they lead. The hint is in the title. Feel free to yell at me in the comments for taking so long, and for killing Peter, and kudos and bookmark me, pretty please!


	8. New Westphalia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait, and this is one is a little dry, but we do get some action in it!

Isaac paces the loft, which is uncharacteristically empty. Between all the additions to the pack and the recent danger, everyone has been here more often than not, even the Sheriff, but today is a rather busy day. Werewolf or not, Boyd couldn’t get out of a family event in San Francisco, and he took Erica with him. Stiles and his father are visiting with Satomi to train the both of them in the art of fighting wolves as a human, which apparently involves getting very comfortable with poisonous plants.

Jackson, Danny, and Lydia are all doing something, what he knows not, and Derek and Cora are meeting with a contractor at the old Hale House to draw up plans for the restoration. This has left him alone for the first time in almost two weeks, and Isaac doesn’t know what to make of himself. His phone and the television can only provide so much entertainment, and he’s getting sick of endlessly scrolling Twitter.

Thankfully, his phone chirps with a message from Danny. 

**DM: Just got done with Jax and Lydia. Down for a few rounds of COD?**

**IL: Hell yeah. At the loft.**

**DM: Omw**

Closing his texting app, Isaac pauses for a moment, scenting the air as he hears something on the roof, with a heartbeat to match. Cautiously stepping out onto the balcony, the last thing that he registers is the  _ woosh _ of something large coming through the air, and then the world goes dark. 

**-Ω-**

Danny steps into the loft after knocking a few times and receiving no answer. As soon as he does, his blood goes cold. Unconscious, but very much alive on the couch is Isaac, whose face is marked with a rather spectacular flare of a bruise that starts at the corner of his eye and wraps around to his ear, his entire temple a vivid shade of purple. But that sight isn’t what terrifies him, it’s the massive black triskele spray painted onto the loft window. The mark of the alphas. 

Rushing to Isaac, he crouches down next to him and starts shaking him. “Wake up, Isaac!”

Almost instantly, Isaac’s eyes fly wide open and he snarls, looking around for his attacker, but only finding Danny. As he settles down, he looks to the new wolf next to him. 

“What happened?” He asks, bewildered.

Danny swallows, pointing to the symbol on the window. “The alphas.”

Isaac runs his hand through his messy curls, and winces when he brushes against the bruise on his face. “Shit!” He curses. 

“I’ll grab some ice from the freezer.” The other teenager rushes into the kitchen, filling a few paper towels with some ice cubes. 

He returns, gingerly pressing the ice against Isaac’s temple. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “Yeah, I’m fine. My face just hurts. We should call Derek.” 

“He’s with the architect, let him have a little bit of a fun before we dump this on him.” Danny says. “Besides, you need to recover from that hit.”

The wounded wolf looks at him with something like curiosity and suspicion mixed on his face, but makes no move to protest. Danny continues to hold the ice against Isaac’s head, and adjusts himself so he’s sitting on the edge of the couch, the other boy’s head mere inches from his lap. Finally, Isaac scoots forward, moving so his head rests on Danny’s thighs. 

“This okay?” He murmurs even as he fidgets to get comfortable. 

Danny swallows thickly. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s fine.” 

He remains acutely aware of just  _ how close  _ Isaac is to his groin, and tries to think of anything other than that fact, focusing on his usual set of cold shower images, including the time he accidentally saw Finstock’s lone testicle, but nothing can counteract the flow of heat and the scent of safety and contentment that pours out of the man in his lap. Against his will, Danny begins to stiffen in the tight denim of his jeans.

Isaac’s nostrils flare as he catches the scent of arousal coming off of his companion, but he makes no movement to object or even acknowledge it. Instead, Danny nearly swallows his own tongue as Isaac goes to scratch his stomach and lifts his shirt, leaving the pale stretch of his abdomen visible even as he makes himself more comfortable.

Isaac looks up for a brief moment, catching his eye, and then turns, looking at Danny like he’s the most precious thing in the world. Fencing the other man in between his arms, He leans down and claims his lips for his own, letting his body run flush against Danny’s. They pull apart to gasp for air, and he feels a rush of satisfaction at watching the new wolf’s eyes burning gold. He goes in once more, pressing his tongue into his mouth, and letting his hands run over Danny’s chest. 

“Holy shit.” He pants, before going in one more time. 

**-Ω-**

This is the part of town Melissa rarely ever ventures to, and hates every second of it when she’s forced to cross into Old Beacon. The industrial center of town died a protracted death starting in the late sixties until just two years prior, when the last meat-packing plant closed up shop. Since then, the east side of town has been nothing but old apartments and industrial ruins. 

She parks outside of the decaying brick structure, it’s faded sign reading  _ Pyramid Textiles Factory _ . This was where Chris wanted to meet, for some reason. Stepping in, she calls out. 

“Chris? Chris, it’s Melissa McCall.” 

The man appears from a doorway at the end of a long hallway. “Down here!” He replies, waving. 

Melissa walks through the old hall, hearing her footsteps echo and carry as she does. Stepping into the room, she gasps aloud. Whatever the exterior state of the place, the interior has clearly gotten some serious upgrades since then. The enormous room has smooth concrete floors and is filled to the brim with cases and cases, as well as desks where people sit and work at computers, some taking phone calls.

“Argent Weapons Exports, how may I assist you?” A woman answers her ringing phone. “Ah, Prince Fahad, how can I help your majesty?” 

Chris steps into her field of view, smiling. “Good to see you again, Mrs. McCall.” 

“Please, Melissa.” She half-replies as she accepts his handshake, still ogling the room. “What the Hell is this place?” 

“Well, Melissa,  _ this  _ is my company. Argent Weapons Exports, the premier company for selling everything from handguns to tank shells. If you use it to make war, we sell it.” He says with a flourish. “We have contracts with multiple governments, Boeing, Lockheed-Martin, BAE Systems, and General Dynamics. Our guns are in the hands of everything from Secret Service agents to UN Peacekeepers.”

“So, why the cloak and dagger?” She asks, suddenly skeptical. 

“How would you feel if a multi-billion dollar weapons exporter told you they were moving to town? This is California, people don’t much care for that sort of thing. Secrecy protects us, and Beacon Hills. The protests would be constant and unbearable without it, trust me.” 

Melissa nods. “Fair enough. I still don’t see the reason you asked me here, though.”

“To give you this.” Chris says, handing her a metal briefcase. “Inside is the latest model from our R&D. Spec ops grade pistol, codenamed Icarus. Semi automatic, almost zero kickback, thirty round magazine. I also gave you an additional ten magazines, all equipped with wolfsbane bullets.” 

“You brought me here to give me a highly illegal gun?” She flatly asks. 

“I brought you here to make sure you can protect yourself. You’re involved in this, your son is a werewolf, and there are  _ plenty  _ of others who would go after you to get to him.” He replies. 

She eyes the case warily for a moment, but takes it. “I believe we had something to discuss.” 

“That we did. Obviously, outright forbidding our children from seeing one another is out of the question, but I  _ do  _ have a solution.” Chris leads, pulling out his phone to show her what appears to be a website for a summer camp, but the URL is an endless string of random numbers and letters ending in .onion. 

“It’s a Dark Web site. Hunter’s Camp, in Indian Lake, New York. I’m sending Allison in a few weeks, and she won’t be back until September third.” He explains.

Melissa looks up, raising a brow at him. “She’ll know what you’re doing. She’s a pretty smart girl, you know.”

“She’s very smart.” He nods. “But she also won’t argue the issue with me. It’ll make time for everyone to cool off. My father left a rather large mess behind him, one that falls on me to clean up.”

“What about Stiles?” 

“What happened there was… regrettable.” 

“Regrettable? You call the torture of a sixteen year old boy regrettable?!” She demands, suddenly hostile. “I call it a goddamn  _ crime.”  _

Chris raises his hands. “Look, I didn’t realize what had happened with him until it was too late. By the time I could move to intercept, he had been freed on his own.” 

“My son seems to think his best friend being tortured was an acceptable price to pay for winning that fight, and I know good and well I taught him better. The question is, did you teach your daughter the same?” Melissa asks accusingly. 

“I taught my daughter the Code. We hunt those who hunt us. Stiles was human, he had no business being targeted like that.” He replies, terse.

“I would drive that point home with Allison.” 

With that, Melissa turns and walks out of the factory.

**-Ω-**

“Dammit.” Derek sighs as he takes in the sight of the black alpha symbol. “You should have called me earlier.” He looks to Isaac and Danny. 

“We didn’t want to cut you short with the architect.” Danny protests.

Cora shakes her head. “I could’ve stayed with her. If something like this happens, Derek needs to know as soon as he can.” 

“Are you alright, Isaac?” The alpha queries. 

His second gives a shaky nod. “Just a little shaken up.”

Derek heads into the kitchen, and comes back with a white spray bottle and a rag. He sprays it against the window and begins to rub, the paint remover working quickly against the glass. 

“Derek?” Isaac asks. “We can’t keep up like this.”

“We’re fine. They’re attacking us alone because they’re too scared to deal with us together.” 

The blonde looks at him with something like disbelief and pity mingled in his eyes. “So, what, we just let them attack and attack until they start picking us off, one by one? They already killed Peter, what’s to stop them from going for Danny, or Lydia, or Stiles? The alphas are going to kill us!” 

“We are going to be  _ fine.”  _ Derek grits out from between his teeth, even as he starts to more aggressively scrub at the windows. 

Cora steps up. “No, we aren’t.” She says. “Derek, we have to end this.”  

“We don’t even know where they’re hiding out!” The alpha snarls, his eyes going red. “How can I protect you all when I can’t even find them?!”

“Call Satomi, and the Argents. Even Scott and Deaton. Call a truce on all the bullshit and the personal fighting just so we can end this. We’ll have plenty of time to kill each other later, but we  _ all  _ have bigger problems right now.” Isaac says. 

“He’s right.” Cora agrees, and Danny nods silently. 

“Stiles isn’t going to like this.” Derek insists.

“He’ll understand priorities.” Danny shoots back. 

Finally, the elder Hale nods, and heads to make the calls.

**-Ω-**

It’s almost sunset when everyone arrives to Deaton’s back room. The air is thick with tension, and Scott and Stiles pointedly avoid eye contact, even as the Sheriff glares daggers at his son’s former best friend. Allison isn’t even pretending to play nice, if the throwing knife she’s fidgeting with has anything to say about the matter. 

Isaac, Erica, Boyd, and Danny all flank around Stiles, and even Cora seems hesitant to stray far from him. Satomi and her own emissary, a short, lithe man named Connor stand with Derek, Lydia, and the Sheriff, while Chris, Deaton, and Scott stand on the opposite side of the operating table-turned war council. 

“We all know why we’re here.” Derek opens. “The alpha pack is a threat, to all of us. It’s time to end it, together.”

“The alphas only seem to have an interest in  _ your  _ pack, Alpha Hale. I haven’t had any issues.” Deaton says, sounding incredibly neutral even as his eyes positively  _ burn  _ with hate.

Satomi gives him a withering glare. “They’ll come for you soon enough. A Druid without a pack is a prime target. At best, they’ll kill you. At worst, well… You know what tends to happen to unaffiliated users of magic during pack wars. I hear enslavement spells are back en vogue.” 

Deaton has the grace to look abashed, but Satomi continues. “Two hunters and an omega wolf will be easy pickings for them. You will die, and it likely won’t be pretty. As if that weren’t enough, need I remind you that Alpha Packs are forbidden under a number of treaties? I was at the signing of one, so was your father, Argent. Kansas City, 1968, it divided the Midwest among the surviving packs. Never mind the fact that destroying something as evil as an Alpha Pack is just the  _ right  _ thing to do.” 

Allison scoffs, and Scott lays a hand on her shoulder to silence her.

“You’re right, Alpha Ito.” Chris says. “It’s the right thing to do. We’ll call it a truce.” He extends a hand. 

“Deaton?” Lydia asks.

“Very well. It’s a truce, then.”

The younger witch raises a brow. “Let’s swear on it, then. You know the spell as well as I do.”

Deaton nods, and offers his hand to her. Taking it, they both close their eyes for a moment, inhale deeply, and when they again open them, they glow bright blue.

_ “Όσον αφορά την αξία της ψυχής μου, κάνω αυτό το συμφωνία.”  _ They say simultaneously. 

“There will be no betrayal. From  _ any  _ of us.” Deaton vows. 

“Nor from us.” Lydia responds.

Derek clears his throat, and then speaks as authoritatively as he can. “Let’s begin. We have a pack to find and destroy.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll see how long this truce lasts, I guess. If you know what the Treaty of Westphalia is, I love you. Next chapter, the showdown begins, and I swear I will get back to New York soon enough. Reviews, kudos, threatening letters to my place of residence to update faster all fuel me!


	9. Digging Like You Can Bury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay, this one was like pulling teeth. Why, I do not know. That said, things are happening. Important things.

They leave in their groups, with the Argents, Scott, and Deaton all fanning out to search for information on the alphas, while the packs head for the Beacon Hills Bank to search for something with the scent of the alphas to try and hunt them the old fashioned way. Satomi’s emissary goes back to Loma Mar, citing pressing matters. Derek, Stiles, and Satomi all ride together in the Camaro, which is filled with tension.

“I don’t like this.” Satomi flatly states. “I _really_ don’t like this.”

“I know, I know.” Derek concedes. “But we don’t have a choice.”

The elder werewolf crosses her arms. “Deaton will betray us, I’m warning you.”

“He’s bound by magic, at least for the moment. I know he’ll try something as soon as the alphas are dealt with, but that’s a problem for tomorrow.” He replies.

“I warn you, putting things like that off for tomorrow is liable to get you killed. As for the alphas, do not underestimate Deucalion. He’ll be betting on you to do that, and I’ve fought with Kali. She’s absolutely lethal.” Satomi intones.

Derek nods. “What about those twins?”

“I’m unfamiliar with them personally.” She replies. “But the fusion is a powerful, dangerous gift, you saw that for yourself.”

“Fusion?” Stiles asks, sounding concerned.

“The ability of two wolves to merge into a single, much more powerful being. It is exceptionally rare, a once in a generation occurrence. It requires that a set of identical twins both become alphas.”

“So, they become _one person?”_ The human sounds floored.

Satomi nods gravely. “One being, one mind, born of two. It is a gift unlike any other in our world. To achieve such perfect synthesis otherwise requires powerful magic attempted under the most careful of circumstances, and with years of practice.”

Stiles leans forward in his seat. “Is there any way to break the fusion?”

“If the fused pair were to experience an extreme emotional or physical shock, they may separate.”

“What about the fifth one, Ennis?” Derek asks.

“He is their weak link. He became an alpha after hunters murdered two of his older siblings, and was never trained properly to handle it. Even when I knew him, he was a fool, preferring to simply bark orders at his betas.”

“You’re not exactly inspiring self confidence here, Satomi.” He replies, suddenly terse.

She lays a hand on his shoulder. “I meant no offense. You’re already a better alpha than he is. Being an alpha isn’t about training, it’s about character. We are leaders, not dictators. That’s why we’ll win, we are stronger of conviction than Deucalion could ever hope to be.”

“She’s right.” Stiles declares. “I’ve seen you train the betas, they’re incredible together. Lydia is amazing, and Satomi’s people are on a whole other level. Not to mention, I’ve picked up a few tricks from her.”

Derek raises a brow and looks at him through the rearview. “Oh?”

“It’s in the Jeep, I’ll show you when we get there.”

The rest of the ride is filled with relative silence, except for the soft music rolling from the car stereo. They arrive to the bank first, quickly tailed by the betas in the Jeep and Lydia and Jackson in her Porsche. Once they’re all out, Stiles heads into the back of Roscoe and pulls out a scabbard.

“Is that a sword?” Lydia demands.

Pulling the blade out, Stiles makes a few slashes through the air. It’s a short sword, about two feet long, with a leaf shaped blade. It glints dangerously in the moonlight, and he seems incredibly comfortable with the weapon.

“It’s a xiphos.” He replies. “Come on, Lydia, you’re the expert on Ancient Greece, you speak the language after all.”

“You gave him a _sword?”_ Derek turns to Satomi, his eyes wide.

“He’s taken to it like a fish to water. The katana, not so much.” She shrugs. “Stiles, show them the aegis.”

He does as told, and produces a beautiful silver shield, with a triskelion on the face of it. It’s maybe three feet across, and Stiles actually looks quite fearsome with both the sword and shield in hand.

“Damn, Stiles. You look hot.” Erica says, smirking.

“I look like a _Percy Jackson_ rip-off.” He shoots back.

“Actually,” Derek remarks. “I’m inclined to agree with Erica. You look… right.”

The praise invokes a blush from Stiles, who beams like the cat who caught the canary.

“We have something we came here to do.” Lydia says. “I suggest we do it.”

They proceed into the bank, and Stiles flinches at the dried blood staining the ancient marble floors. In the basement, the place clearly hasn’t been touched since their battle days earlier. The mattresses and sleeping bags have been left where they were, which is the alphas’ mistake. Their scent is covering the place. Another mistake, or perhaps a gift, is that the duffel bag loaded with cash is still there.

“Everyone scent as much as you can. Lydia, are there any personal effects of theirs?” Derek asks.

Lydia nods. “One of the twins has a particular attachment to this.”

She holds up a small metal figurine, which glints in the soft lighting of the basement. It’s a wolf, its head thrown back to howl at an invisible moon.

“Can you track him?” Stiles queries.

“I’m trying.” She replies. “This is tricky magic.”

After a few moments, she opens her eyes, which glow white for a few seconds before fading to their normal hazel. She murmurs in Latin for a moment longer, and then inhales.

“Well?” Derek asks.

“Got him.” Lydia says. “Castle Rock State Park, just off Route 35. His name is Ethan.”

Satomi nods. “Let’s go. Time for some payback.”

The drive to the park is brief, but tense. Stiles keeps flipping his scabbard in his hands the whole way through, prompting Derek to lace the fingers of his free hand through his, and to give him a reassuring grin. He stops fidgeting to return to smile, and the whole of the car gets just a little less tight.

Castle Rock State Park is famous for being dotted with beautiful rock formations and countless caves, as well as thick forests of redwoods and Pacific madrona. In the late of the night, with only a nearly full moon to illuminate it, the place feels surreal and otherworldly. The spires of rock are like great bones bleached white by the moon, and the trees are a shifting black mass reaching towards the vast skies above.

“It’s a perfect place for them to hide.” Derek intones. “I can see why they chose it.”

Lydia nods. “I can feel the magic here, it’s… powerful, and ancient. They’d be drawn to it.”

“It might just be the one wolf, guys.” Stiles remarks. “They’ve probably figured out we’re moving against them.” He pulls the xiphos from its scabbard, twirling it through the air with a low _whoosh._

The betas all cluster around the humans of the group, naturally pulling around the members who need the most protection. Derek and Satomi lead the pack as equals, and Lydia keeps turning the wolf figurine over in her hands, whispering in Greek to keep tracking the twin named Ethan. As they march through the forest, they are nearly silent, keeping a close watch for any sound or scent that might indicate his presence, until Satomi’s head snaps up.

“He’s here.” She whispers, silently pointing to the west.

Derek makes a complicated series of gestures to his betas, who all at once break into formations, even Danny seems to catch onto the order, pairing off with Isaac to go off to one side. Derek points to Satomi, and then to Lydia, and the older werewolf goes over to accompany her, while he looks back at Stiles and flicks his head in a ‘come here’ gesture.

Stiles can neither hear nor see the betas fanning out along the ridgeline they’re on, but he can certainly sense them, and eventually they’re all positioned along the rim of what seems to be a decent-sized crater, with the twins inside of it at the very center. They’re digging for something, speaking in soft complaints as they do.

“God, this is bullshit.” One of them says. “Why are we doing this?!”

“Because,” The other sarcastically grouses, “Our esteemed Alpha of Alphas demands it, Aiden.”

From across the rim of the crater, six sets of eyes, five gold and one blue, flash for a briefest of seconds. Derek and Satomi each let their eyes go red, and the hunt is on. Lydia and Stiles break for the clearing, heading directly at the twins, Lydia with eyes burning brilliant white, Stiles with sword and shield drawn and ready. The alpha twins look up almost immediately, and their reaction is nearly enough to make the young swordsman turn tail and run.

The twins charge directly at each other, and when they collide, their forms merge into a single, monstrous looking being, with a pinkish scar delineating down its center. The beast isn’t much taller than the two when they’re apart, but it is much bulkier. It turns blazing red eyes on Stiles and Lydia, and roars, planting its feet.

“Now!” Derek bellows, jumping into the fray, with everyone instantly appearing at the rim of the crater and sliding down the walls to the floor.

Isaac, Danny, Boyd, and Erica act as a pincer, charing at the merged alpha from both sides, while Stiles takes a swipe at the furious beast with his xiphos. Derek and Satomi run side by side at it from the rear, while Jackson sprints to cover Lydia, who has risen off of the ground while chanting in Latin. The air in the crater changes, becomes charged with electricity and a deep, resonating magical energy that even Stiles can feel.

The betas all converge on the alpha, jumping to tear at it with claws and teeth, snarling like wild dogs as they do. Stiles falls back after successfully slicing across the creature’s chest, sending forth a gout of blood from the deep gash. Lydia, now levitated high above the fray speaks with multiple voices, power and authority radiating from her.

“Step back.” She simply orders, now completely surrounded by a halo of light.

The wolves comply, retreating from the wounded creature, which lies bloody and weak on the dusty ground. From where she hovers, Lydia raises a hand skyward, and commands to the clouds. _“Dissolvit eas capere!”_

She slices downward with her hand, and though the sky is cloudless, a great bolt of lighting appears from seemingly infinitely high above them all, striking directly on the merged form of the twins. The sound is deafening and the light blinding, but when they regain their senses, the group watches as the beast lumbers to its feet, sways for a moment, and falls apart, the two sides of it splitting as the twins go apart, each falling opposite his brother. The light surrounding her fades, and when she reaches the ground, Lydia appears as normal as ever.

“Holy fuck, Lydia.” Erica says, staring at the witch with wide eyes. “Remind me not to fuck with you.”

The other betas nod in agreement. Stiles takes a tenuous step towards the twins, and looks to Satomi and Derek. “Are they…?”

“No.” Derek replies. “We need them alive. There’s a reason they were here, we need to find out what it was.”

Satomi walks over to the one twin, Ethan, Stiles believes, and slings him over her shoulder. “That was some serious power, they’re not going to be waking up for a good while. Wolfsbane rope is in the trunk, Derek?” She asks, and the other alpha nods.

Boyd throws the other one in the same fireman’s carry, and follows after Satomi. The rest of them follow in short order, with Stiles and Derek hanging to the back. The human slips his hand into Derek’s, and rests his head on his shoulder as they walk. They don’t speak, but enjoy the company of one another, looking up at the great expanse of sky and the nearly full moon in a relieved silence. Finally, Derek speaks, breaking the quiet softly.

“I hated seeing you going at that thing.” He says. “You’re so fragile, and that shield can’t protect all of you.”

Stiles looks at him with a wry grin and responds. “I have to be able to help, and to fight. You can’t always be there for me, and while I can’t carry a sword and shield all the time, I can help use this training. Satomi got me started on some hand to hand stuff, and she’s considering trying out knives with me.”

“I should be the one training you. You’re _mine.”_ Derek mutters, sounding rather put out.

“What is that supposed to mean?” He shoots back, an eyebrow raised and a smirk on his face.

Rather than reply with words, the werewolf flashes his eyes, and whirls around so that he’s behind Stiles, wrapping arms around his waist and picking him up, all while pressing blunt, human teeth to the junction of his neck and shoulder.

“Ah! Derek, put me down!” Stiles yells, laughing giddly as he does.

“Nope, mine.” Derek replies, swinging him so that he’s carrying Stiles bridal style. “All mine.” He repeats, looking quite smug as he does.

The human does not resist, but just sighs with satisfaction and wraps his arms around the older man’s neck, leaning against the solid muscles of his chest and enjoying the softness of the tight cotton tee shirt he’s worn. They march back to the cars without further discussion, and watch as Satomi and Boyd use the wolfsbane rope, which is impervious to the claws or teeth of a werewolf, to restrain the alpha twins, and then throw each into opposite trunks, making it impossible for them to merge should they awaken on the ride back to Beacon Hills.

Stiles jumps down from Derek’s arms, adjusting the scabbard on his back and wiping dirt from the triskele shield, and leaning over for a kiss from Derek. He watches as Satomi slams the trunk shut, and heads for the back seat of the Camaro.

“If any issues come up, howl.” Derek commands to his betas. “If you think there’s even a chance he gets loose, stop the Jeep. We can’t risk him having any head start on running.”

“Also, please don’t kill Roscoe.” Stiles implores. “He’s been through enough.”

Isaac laughs as he jumps into the blue car. “No promises, Stiles.”

He simply flips him off in response, and gets into the passenger side of the Camaro. Fortune seems to be on their side, as the drive back to Beacon Hills is uneventful in both cars. From the Jeep, with the trunk occupied by an unconscious werewolf, the betas and Lydia are forced to get creative with the seating arrangement, which leads to a blushing Danny sitting on Isaac’s lap in the back seat. Isaac, for his part, looks like the cat that caught the canary. Without hesitation, he wraps his arms around Danny’s waist, pulling him in close.

“Wouldn’t want you to fall.” He says, smugly grinning.

Erica snickers and rolls her eyes, while Boyd just looks back with a raised eyebrow at his fellow betas. Jackson and Lydia, pointedly ignore them both, with Jackson running his fingers through an exhausted Lydia’s hair as he whispers to her that she’s done so good. They pull out onto the road, driving through the deserted stretch of California forest back towards town. The Camaro keeps a comfortable distance ahead of them, slowing only when the first streetlights appear at the edge of town.

They proceed directly to the loft, and park right at the entrance to the building, hoping to avoid any prying eyes as the spirit the unconscious werewolves up to the top floor. Once there, it is a waiting game for them. Lydia almost immediately crashes on the couch, the display of magic needed to undo the powerful bond of a merged wolf having taken its toll on her. Jackson sits with her, and warily eyes the still-unconscious twins from where they’ve been unceremoniously chained in the middle of the floor.

Stiles, in order to kill time, heads for the kitchen and decides to make a midnight snack for everyone. This, in turn, translates into baking cookies. By the time he has the batter ready, Erica and Isaac have drifted into the kitchen in time to steal some raw cookie dough, only to be shooed off by him wielding a large cake spatula. As he finishes placing the last of the cookie dough onto the baking sheets, Derek is calling him from the living room. He rushes in place the sheets into the oven and setting a timer, making it out just in time to see the first of the twins open his eyes.

**-Ω-**

Scott and Allison sprint as quickly as they can, having far underestimated the power of even a single alpha. The bald headed brute known as Ennis is on their tails, roaring in unadulterated rage as he chases them through the industrial ruins of old Beacon Hills. They’ve long lost sight of Chris or Deaton, and Scott’s hearing cannot pick them up. That he can pick up anything over the sound of Ennis’ snarls and his own hammering heart is something of a miracle.

“Scott!” Allison screams as her foot is caught on a piece of metal and she goes sprawling over the concrete.

He turns around, rushing to her side to pick her up, but Ennis is there, his eyes blazing a brilliant red as he descends upon them. Scott rushes to try and intercept him, but he is neither fast nor strong enough to pose a match for the furious wolf. He’s picked up by Ennis, and slammed so hard into the concrete he can hear the cement shatter around him, even over the chorus of his ribs shattering inside of his chest. Allison screams from where she’s scrambling to get up, desperately going for the throwing knife on her hip, but Ennis swings out an arm and knocks her aside like a ragdoll.

“Insipid little shit!” He snarls as he stands over Scott. The alpha crouches, and wraps his hands around the omega’s throat. “You thought you could kill me?! I’ve slaughtered dozens of wolves older and stronger than you. You’re _nothing!”_

Scott’s visions grows blurry, and spots dance across his eyes as his chest burn from the lack of air. Just before the darkness takes him, there is a flash, and blood is pouring over his face, hot and thick. The hands that strangle him go limp, and sweet oxygen floods his starved lungs. Coughing and choking, he is able to blink and see a conjured bolt of white energy sticking out from what was once Ennis’ left eye. The bolt dissolves, and the lumbering corpse of the alpha falls with a heavy _thud._

“Are you alright, Scott?” Deaton asks, rushing to his side.

“Ribs.” He gasps, suddenly only able to focus on the shards of bone that have embedded themselves in his lungs as he coughs up a gout of blood.

Instantly, the druid begins casting every healing spell he can, invoking the spirit of Apollo in both Latin and Greek as he prays over the wounded werewolf. From behind them, Chris rushes to his daughter’s side, helping her up and looking at the cut that now profusely bleeds from her forehead. When Deaton is finished, he helps Scott up, and looks warily behind them.

“It’s enough for now, I’ll do the rest at the office. We have to go, the other two aren’t far behind us.” He says. “Chris, Allison, let’s go!”

“Coming!” Chris calls back, helping his daughter along.

It all went wrong so quickly. After the Hale pack departed from the vet’s office with Satomi, Deaton had dug into his archives of magical books and found a tracking spell more advanced than any Lydia would know, one that didn’t even require a token or item of personal importance. Simple focus, and skill far beyond what that little spark could ever hope to possess. He was a _Druid,_ goddammit, trained by a master who was herself the product of over two thousand years of collective knowledge. What was Lydia but some self-taught would-be witch with an ego trip and a kitschy little book?

When they had located the alphas in an old meat packing plant, Deaton had been confident he could easily dispatch them without having to worry about collateral damage. That said, it seems the alphas had been expecting them. Almost immediately, they split apart, and danced carefully away from his direct spells, instead forcing them to split up and run.

Finally, he’d been able to shake Deucalion and Kali, only to find Ennis about to break Scott’s neck, and was forced to kill him. He had been furious about that, because he needed them alive. Killing the wolves without taking their power was a waste, and Ennis, for all his stupidity, had been full of power. That said, it was worth it. Scott was what was important, his survival was paramount.

He eases Scott into the car, listening as he winces at the contact between his still tender ribs and the pressure of the car seat. Chris and Allison get into the back seat, and then they are driving as fast as he can manage without attracting attention, Deaton counting the seconds until they can get under the wards he’s placed over the property of the vet’s office.

As they go, he ponders what to say to Derek regarding Ennis and the two surviving alphas, and what success he’s fared with the twins? Even a whole pack would be hard-pressed to find victory against wolves with the gift of fusion. Perhaps he was now short a beta or two, or even that annoying Stilinski. Wouldn’t that just be the icing on the cake? Maybe, if the Gods truly smiled upon him, either Satomi or Derek had fallen to the twins. However, he shouldn’t get his hopes up, he almost certainly would have felt that sort of magical loss.

With no further incursions, Deaton pulls into the parking lot of his office, and relaxes. The familiar convergence of leylines welcomes him home like an old friend, and he lets some of the tension and irritability go. He gets out of the car and helps ease Scott out and onto his feet, and begins a mental list of the things he’ll need to heal all of the damage done as they cross the threshold into his domain.

**-Ω-**

“Why were you digging in that crater?” Derek demands, standing over the twins with his arms crossed.

“Fuck you, Hale.” One spits out. “Deucalion will have your entire pack wiped out for this.”

Stiles rolls his eyes from where he leans against the wall, idly playing with the xiphos. “We watched you in the crater. I don’t think Deucalion gives a shit about you two, and since you’re both out of the fight, I’d say the numerical advantage is on our side.”

Erica marches over drape an arm around the shoulders of one of the twins, smiling coyly as she subtly emphasizes her cleavage into his face. “We wouldn’t want him to have to get creative with that sword, would we, sweetheart?” She purrs. “That, or we could wake up Lydia. That was a real show she put on, wasn’t it?”

The threats seem to do the trick, as both of the alphas suddenly tense up and stare at Stiles with wariness and almost childlike terror. Finally, the one of the left speaks. “We don’t know what he wants it for, but Deucalion says he needs meteoric iron.”

The other cuts in. “Look, we don’t even want anything to do with those assholes, we haven’t had a choice!” He implores. “They made us murder our pack, our goddamn family!”

“Why should we believe you?” Boyd demands.

“We just want to get away from this shit.”

Derek steps forward, carefully inspecting the two of them. “What are your names?”

“I’m Ethan Stewart, this is Aiden.” The one on the left says. “We were living in the Everglades in Florida with our pack when the others showed up. They made it clear we’d all die unless we did what they said, and took the power for ourselves.”

Aiden picks up the story. “Deucalion wanted the power of the fusion, which we didn’t even know existed. He needed enforcers and thugs, that was us. We were his errand boys. Shit, they didn’t even let us take any of the kills whenever they decided to eradicate a pack. They’re afraid we’d get too strong and overthrow them.”

“Can we believe a word they’re saying?” Danny asks, inspecting them with a shrewd eye.

“They’re not lying.” Satomi replies. “Your name isn’t Stewart, but the rest of it’s the truth. Why lie about that?”

Ethan sighs. “It’s easier, okay? You heard the rest, it’s true. Just… please, just let us go. We won’t ever come back.”

“Please.” Aiden implores.

For a moment, Derek seems torn, but he walks over to the table where they’ve placed the duffle bag of cash from the bank and pulls out a few stacks of cash. He bends down to unlock the chains he’s put the twins in, and lays the money in Ethan’s hand.

“$200,000. I never want to see you in the state of California again, or I will find you, and I will do worse than sic a witch on you. Got it?” He asks, eyes glowing red.

The twins nod. “Thank you.” They both say.

“Go.”

The two alphas make for the door, but Aiden turns back, looking to Derek and Satomi. “Wait. There’s something else. I heard Deucalion on the phone with someone. He said something about… I think he said they were gonna wake her up. That was all I picked up.”

“Wake who up?” Isaac asks.

“I don’t know. But he sounded… afraid.” He says. “That’s all I know, I swear.” With that, they are gone.

There is a tense silence that’s shattered by the oven timer going off. As Stiles goes into the kitchen to get the cookies, Derek looks to Satomi, and he seems afraid.

“Who could Deucalion want to wake up that would require meteoric iron?” He asks.

The Japanese woman shakes her head. “I do not know, but I fear it will be costly.”

**-Ω-**

Back in New York, the sun is just breaking over the horizon. Gerard Argent stands atop Prospect Mountain, taking in the scenic vista of the Adirondack Mountains. Below him, carved into the outcropping of rock is a lone symbol, an ancient symbol. A tree, its branches forming several triskelions. A figure is carved into the heart of the tree, a clearly female figure. He smiles at the etching, so small you couldn’t see it unless you know you were looking for.

Deep below the outcropping, in a space that has been sealed for thousands of years, something ancient stirs. It isn’t just something, but _someone_. Someone the world has forgotten, someone angry. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, Stiles has a sword. He had to graduate from a bat at some point! If anyone can piece where this is going and guess just who 'She' is that Deucalion wants to wake up, I'll write you a one shot of your choice because I'm bored. Also, standard begging for kudos, reviews, and bookmarks, y'all know the drill by now.


	10. Ticking of Clocks, Gravity’s Pull

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some not too descriptive sex stuff after the third omega, some minor gore, but mostly happy times! We’re really into the thick of it now, guys. Title is from Cold War Kids’ song ‘First’, which is mandatory listening for this chapter. Enjoy!

Days go by with no sign of the remaining alphas. Lydia has quietly confirmed the twins are somewhere in the northeast, maybe Maine or New Brunswick, and Deaton sent a text message to Stiles confirming Ennis’ death. Deucalion and Kali are nowhere to be seen, and their scent is growing so faded from the town that even Derek struggles to find it. Satomi returns to Loma Mar, promising she’s only a call away if needed.

Isaac has begun to stay more and more frequently at Danny’s, seldom encountering his parents in the great home, which has given Cora a room of her own in the form of the spare bedroom. At the same time, Stiles seems to be slowly colonizing Derek’s apartment. He has a toothbrush in the bathroom, and a drawer in the dresser. He’s also begun to keep another pinboard in the loft.

Construction on the new pack house is finally underway after delays due to the fact that the wood for the frame had to be imported from the ancestral Hale lands of Upstate New York, but the old house is torn away and a skeleton of the future residence now stands in its place. Tonight, however, the pack is gathered at Stiles’ for dinner. The Sheriff has slowly begun to insert himself into the pack, and though there hasn’t been any formal recognition, it doesn’t seem necessary. John Stilinski simply _is_ pack, and part of his contribution to that seems to be breaking out his late wife’s spaghetti sauce recipe.

“Lydia, garlic bread in the oven, go grab it!” Stiles orders as he tosses a salad at the island in the kitchen. “Isaac, get the good plates from the china hutch!”

The two comply while Danny and Cora place cups and cutlery on the table. Derek and Erica are just finishing up with playing cards in the living room as John dumps the boiling water and the pasta into a strainer in the kitchen sink, and Jackson and Boyd are wrestling like toddlers in the hallway leading to the front door.

“Hey! He who breaks my house fixes it himself!” John calls when the entire first floor shakes with the impact of one of the two dufuses into _something._

Derek focuses on getting the salad bowls put together while Stiles plates the spaghetti itself, and Lydia returns from the kitchen with the bread placed in a basket, which she puts in the center of the table with a flourish before heading for the glasses to pour drinks.

Once the plates are set, Stiles calls out to the last few stragglers. “Dinner’s on the table!”

Everyone gathers and sits, distributing bread and butter as Lydia passes out glasses of milk and Derek rushes back into the kitchen, having forgotten the dressings for the salad, only to return bearing a comical number of bottles of various condiments.

“Wasn’t sure what to get, so I grabbed it all.” He explains. “Who wants what?”

“Russian, please.” Danny says, raising a hand to catch the bottle as soon as Derek tosses it.

Stiles, Erica, and the Sheriff all speak at once. “Ranch.”

The rest of the table breaks into giggles at their matching tone as the salad dressings are passed around and the alpha takes his seat, and for a moment there’s a lull in the conversation, just the dull ringing of metal against porcelain and the shuffling of ten people at a table. The mood in the room isn’t joyous, and there might even be some tension left over, the awareness that the alpha pack has not been vanquished yet hanging over them, but there is a great deal of contentment.

For Stiles, it’s been years since the house has had this much energy, and certainly at least ten since they’ve hosted a proper spaghetti dinner. He can barely remember the last one, only flashes like his maternal grandmother cursing like a sailor after brushing her arm on the piping hot tray for the garlic bread, and Claudia pouring glasses of wine for the adults as his six year old self finished with setting out the silverware.

It’s a different, yet strikingly similar feeling for Derek. His pack hasn’t been so large in a very long time, and he hasn’t had a pack dinner since the night of the fire. When he and Laura first moved to New York, they stayed with the enormous pack of their paternal grandmother, and with the memory of the fire being so fresh, the two of them avoided any sort of pack activity until Derek finished his schooling at the local high school, and then he and Laura went downstate to the city to live.

“So,” Lydia says, breaking the quiet. “What next?”

Derek finishes the bite in his mouth and speaks. “We wait and see what they do next. If they flee, we pursue. They can’t be allowed to escape, or they’re just gonna come back stronger.”

“I agree.” John says. “These types don’t give up. They have to be dealt with as soon as possible.”

“We have the numbers, but they have the power edge. It took six of us, including a witch, to even disable the twins, and fusion or not, they weren’t exactly the cream of the alpha crop.” Cora remarks. “We need to be careful about it.”

“Amen.” Boyd nods.

Erica clears her throat and speaks. “ _For now,_ however, let us enjoy this moment. It’s the first formal pack dinner, enough heavy!”

Isaac, Danny, and Stiles all nod in agreement. “We have a lot to celebrate right now, like the new house finally coming along.” Isaac says.

“Cheers to that.” John adds, raising his glass.

Everyone else raises their glasses, and a collective _‘cheers’_ goes out in the cozy Stilinski dining room. They delve into the meal with gusto, thoroughly enjoying it, and trading stories and jokes, simply having time together without the hanging specter of danger for what is probably the first time.

**-Ω-**

_‘United Flight 846 to Albany, New York, priority boarding starts now.’_ A cool female voice breaks out over the speakers of San Francisco International Airport.

Deucalion and Kali walk towards the gate, bags slung over their shoulders. They lean against each other, and, to any observer, they seem like any couple traveling, but, inside, they are roiling with rage. Ennis is dead. The traitorous twins have run off to God knows where. Their pack, years of work, reduced to him and Kali.

But there is something in New York which will guarantee them the dominion they know they deserve. An ancient temple, the resting place of a Goddess, waits in the oldest mountains on Earth. The bonds that have let Her sleep will be theirs to manipulate, and Her power will bring them the control they so desire. The only challenge is waking Her.

And so, they board their flight, bound for their meeting with a Goddess, unaware that there are others who desire Her power.

**-Ω-**

June becomes July. The summer reaches its climax, and with the Alphas clearly gone, the Hale pack settles into a routine. The new house goes up in a matter of weeks, mostly because the wolves devote themselves to the work for hours and hours on end, able to go for much longer than any human crew ever could, and without much of the equipment. Lydia is a massive help in the undertaking, using magic however she can, but her principal use for it is to bless the land and conjure powerful protection charms.

Stiles makes twice weekly trips to Satomi’s property in Loma Mar with his father to continue training, until the point where he is as confident and deadly with the xiphos and shield as Allison is with her bow. John becomes a crack shot with all manner of guns, and even begins cultivating countless strains of wolfsbane in the backyard of the Stilinski residence.

Despite the better efforts of Lydia, Stiles never picks up anything more than very base magic. He can cast a ring of mountain ash, and even manages to achieve heating up a cup of coffee that had gone cold, but the spark Deaton had sensed in him seems to be more of an ember. He isn’t too cut up about it, though. The Druid left a bad taste in his mouth about the whole magic thing, and prefers to let Lydia handle it. He’s got the sword, and that’s enough.

It’s late July when they finally finish the house. It’s a beautiful building with a mixed façade of brick and white siding, and a massive front porch that they cover with chairs and benches. Despite being smaller than its predecessor, the pack house is still very large. With seven bedrooms and ten bathrooms, a formal and informal dining room, _two_ living areas, a library, a study, and a massive kitchen and solarium, the building pushes nearly ten thousand square feet.

The house also has an enormous, fully furnished basement, which has an evacuation tunnel that leads nearly a quarter mile out into a hillside deep in the forest. It’s outfitted with the latest in fireproofing, both magical and technological, at Derek and Cora’s insistence.

Furnishing this enormous residence takes several trips to San Francisco to buy the necessary furniture, and to place orders for the pieces that have to be custom made. One such piece is the bedframe for the master bedroom, which is a great four poster bed with an ornate headboard, made of rich, earthy mahogany, and decorated with a beautiful carved triskelion in the center of the headboard.

The triskele features heavily throughout the house, from a massive one placed in the center of the foyer floor, to mosaics in the tiling of every bathroom shower. There is even one in the study, where the triple spiral is carved into the front of the desk. Finally, after getting the power and water hookups repaired, and repaving the driveway, the house is move-in ready.

Move in day is a beautiful one, warm but not hot, with a gentle breeze and plenty of sunshine. Lydia puts the last of the magical wards in place, and the pack gets their own personal effects into the house, clothes, computers, and the like. Jackson, Erica, Boyd, and Isaac all have decided to take up permanent residence at the new Hale house with Derek and Cora, for their own safety as much for their families’. A pack is strongest together, after all.

Stiles has taken over part of the study with his pin board from the loft, as well as moving the contents of his drawer there into the dresser in the new master bedroom. The whole of the pack helps with the affair, and, as the sun is starting to turn the western sky gold through the trees, they finish up, just in time for a huge delivery of Chinese food from a place in town, which they eat out on the front porch.

“So, here’s to new beginnings!” Derek says, raising a can of Pepsi in a toast, which is echoed by everyone.

“How’s that soundproofing spell going, Lyds?” Boyd asks, looking to the red headed witch.

Lydia raises an eyebrow in a taunting smirk. “Why, eager to try it out, Vernon?” She teases.

The dark skinned man thanks his rarely lucky stars his complexion doesn’t lend itself to blushing, but Erica just laughs wickedly.

“Absolutely!” She crows.

John shakes his head. “I’m not hearing this.” He mutters, taking a bite of his lo mein.

“Aww, Dad, you gave me the pregnancy talk, why not for Erica and Boyd?” Stiles mockingly chides his father. “Don’t tell me you’ve lost your touch.”

“I stammered and stuttered my way through giving you the talk, Stiles, and you’re _mine._ I will not subject myself to that for someone else’s kids. Pack they may be, but that doesn’t mean I have to give the safe sex talk. That is firmly in Derek’s purview.” He shoots back.

Erica turns to her alpha, smirking. “Well, oh Alpha, my Alpha?”

“If you get knocked up, you’re buying all of the supplies, including the furniture.” He deadpans.

“Yep! Not getting pregnant anytime soon!” She chirps, making a show of scooting away from her boyfriend. “Gotta leave room for werewolf Jesus, Boyd!”

“Werewolf Jesus?” Jackson asks, sounding deeply skeptical.

Erica nods. “Well, yeah. We’re werewolves. Haven’t you seen _21 Jump Street?_ Koreans worship Korean Jesus, werewolves worship werewolf Jesus.”

“Actually,” Derek intones. “Werewolves don’t usually worship any of the ‘traditional’ religions. Those of us who are religious usually worship the Hellenic faith.”

“Hellenic?” Danny asks, leaning forward.

“The Ancient Greek religion.” Lydia supplies. “The myth of King Lycaon and his sons as the first werewolves is a big part of werewolf religion. The myth goes on to state that his fifty sons went on and established fifty packs, and that every pack alive today can trace their lineage back to Greece in some way or other.”

Derek shakes his head. “It’s not a myth.” He says. “It’s the truth. Lycaon and his sons killed and served their brother to Zeus, who turned them all into wolves. But, the last part of that myth is wrong, Lydia.”

“How so?” She asks.

“Only one of Lycaon‘s sons established a pack. The youngest, Nyctimus, the one they killed. Zeus raised him from the dead and gave him the power to control the wolves, but also to be a man and rule his father’s kingdom. Lycaon wasn’t the first werewolf, Nyctimus was. Every werewolf in the world is, through blood or through the bite, a descendant of Nyctimus of Arcadia.”

“What about you?” John asks. “Are the Hales blood relatives of this Nyctimus?”

“We believe so. There’s some confusion in the bloodline around the fall of Constantinople, but, if our hunch is correct, we’re one of the few packs that can claim a direct line back to him.” He says. “Personally, I don’t care. It was three thousand years ago, and however we got here, we’re here.”

“Despite the better efforts of some.” Cora bitterly remarks. “I’m still pissed you won’t let me kill them.”

“We honor the agreement until they break it.” Derek says, an edge of authority breaking into his voice.

“It’s just a matter of time.” The younger Hale replies.

He nods. “We’ll be ready. They won’t catch us off guard again.”

“Okay, _enough_ with the heavy. We just built a mansion in less than two months! We are celebrating, and that means no war councils!” Lydia bursts.

“She’s right.” Stiles says, looking pointedly at Derek.

“Fine.” The alpha sighs. “You’re right, enough worrying. We all did an amazing thing, and you guys should be really proud.” He gives them one his rare smiles, soft and reserved only for the pack.

They all echo the sentiment, and continue on with their meal.

**-Ω-**

The wood of that beautiful, ornate headboard is smooth under Stiles’ wandering hands as he searches for _something_ to hold onto. Derek is doing something absolutely spectacular with his tongue, something that has him arching off of the mattress and trying not to scream.

This is the first time they’ve gotten to anything more than wandering hands and heavy petting. It’s the first time he’s seen Derek naked in all of his glory, and by all the Gods is he fucking glorious. At first, Stiles had felt so self-conscious about his scrawny, mole-dotted form next to the Adonisian beauty of Derek’s body, but the werewolf had cradled him in his arms like he was something precious and whispered such beautiful words into his ear while he’d rutted their groins together, and now, every time he pulls back from Stiles’ most intimate of places to breathe, Derek tells him how fucking beautiful he is.

He believes it, if only because if this being, this man cut from marble, says he is beautiful, then who is he to disagree? So Stiles revels in this moment, in Derek putting his tongue to use in what seems to be a very concerted effort to make him forget his own name, and takes himself in hand, bringing himself off in time with the swipe of Derek across his opening. He finishes in a whiteout of pleasure, barely able to stutter out his lover’s name, his weak joints failing him as he sprawls onto the plush mattress and silk sheets below him.

Derek flips him onto his back, and claims his lips in a desperate, feral kiss as Stiles hears the slick sound of the werewolf taking care of his own arousal, until, only seconds later, he feels the warmth of the other’s release splash across his stomach. All the while, they do not stop kissing. Finally, they break for air, and Stiles gasps out his first words that aren’t _‘God’_ or ‘ _Derek’_ in almost a half an hour.

“Holy shit…” He says, breathless and awestruck.

Derek doesn’t respond with words, but gives a hum of agreement as he nuzzles his face against Stiles’ neck, before he stands and grabs a towel from the en suite bathroom to wipe the two of them clean. Stiles just lets himself be manhandled and wiped clean, too exhausted to dare resist. After throwing the soiled towel in a nearby hamper, Derek rejoins him, pulling the slighter man into his arms.

“You’re amazing.” He whispers into his ear. “Absolutely amazing.”

Stiles looks up at his lover, full of emotions as he does. “God, I love you.” He says, and means it, even if he didn’t yet mean to say it.

It’s not even a choice, it’s an automatic response that wells up from Derek, a truth that demands immediate liberation.

“I love you, too.”

**-Ω-**

Lydia stares at the waxing crescent moon with determination. She’s carved the symbols of Apollo into the forest floor, and burns bay leaves all around her. She pulls into the magic within her core, and opens herself to the Gods, hoping for a vision of the future. At first, there is nothing, and then, murky images. Figures shifting, lights changing colors. Clarity comes. A flash of Stiles standing on top of a boulder under the light of a full moon, his sword in hand, pointed at some unseen enemy. Erica and Boyd, their backs against one another, as cloaked figures encircle them.

The flashes are there and gone, and for a moment, there is nothing, not even a sound from the forest around her, until Lydia is drawn into a vision, thrusted from the present and slammed into the future, and what she sees is terrible.

She stands on top of a great mountain, overlooking a massive, narrow lake and the town at its shore. At her feet, the pack, dead. Their bodies stacked like cordwood on top of one another. Her own corpse is among them, throat cut wide open, eyes wide and unseeing. Above them, the sun is eclipsed, and the stars seem to be falling. Aurora dance overhead, but they are not the great walls of light. These aurora take clear shapes, animals chasing each other across the sky. Then, the mountain peak crumbles, breaking away in a tremendous landslide to reveal a massive, Ancient Greek temple.

Walking down the steps, surrounded by a blinding light, is _Stiles._ Lydia lands against the hard marble of the steps, and gapes at her friend as he stops just above her, looking down with some odd mixture of annoyance and interest.

“Not yet, little witch.” He says, but the voice is all wrong. Behind his is another, female voice, this one both beautiful and terrifying.

As this strange Stiles bends down, the last thing she sees is a sign among the debris of the landslide.

_‘Prospect Mountain, Home of the 100 Mile View!’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we FINALLY go to New York, Danny and Isaac reach a new point, and we’ll be hearing from our least favorite Argent once more. As per usual, reviews, oh pretty please, give me reviews.


	11. Our World Caves in On Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I set out on this journey, I decided I wasn't gonna make this smutty. Then I got listening to Sleeping at Last and their song Woodwork, whose lyrics make up this chapter title, said fuck that, they're gonna fuck. So... yeah. You should definitely listen to it, too, it's a whole ass mood. I'm old enough to remember all the old phrases, here be pron, there's a lemon, smexy times, all that cringey FanFiction shit from back in the day. Enjoy!

Stiles woke up screaming. Again. This was the sixth night in a row, and every night, Derek had startled awake, eyes red and prepared for whatever danger was there, only to realize it was Stiles’ dreams once more. After that, he’d pull his younger lover close and whisper while Stiles cried into his bare shoulder, begging him not to leave him alone. The psychological scars of Gerard Argent’s torture hadn’t faded in the slightest, even if his body had been fully healed for months now.

Derek sighs from where he leans against the window frame in the bedroom, turning around to look at Stiles sleeping in the massive bed, a thin, pale grey sheet the only thing covering his nudity. It’s not quite sunrise, with the eastern sky a muted watercolor of rose and gold, and clouds rolling in from the west. He can smell the coming rain, and plans for a day inside.

Covering himself with a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, Derek pads his way downstairs and into the kitchen to start coffee. Everyone is going to sleep until the late morning, no doubt, but he’s up, and figures he might as well make himself useful. With the coffee brewing, he goes into the smaller living room and turns on the morning news, keeping the volume low as a courtesy to his pack.

He keeps watching for about forty five minutes before he picks up the telltale hum of Lydia’s Porsche as it rips down the freshly paved driveway. The second she clears the tree line, Lydia slams on the brakes hard enough to squeal her tires, and she doesn’t even bother shutting off the car, instead sprinting across the yard, her heart thundering. She forgoes knocking, and bursts into the house.

“Derek!” She yells, and he is shocked when he finally catches sight of her appearance.

Lydia has never been anything but perfectly pressed, and to see her like this is frightening. Her hair is tied back into a loose bun, and her makeup is leftover from yesterday, cracked and smudged in places. She wears a pair of yoga pants and a camisole, combined with a pair of cheap rubber flip flops. In short, she is a mess.

“Lydia, what the Hell is going on?!” Derek demands, scrambling over to her in the foyer.

She runs a hand through her red locks, clearly distressed. “We have to get on a plane to New York, now!”

“What are you talking about?!”

“I was up late meditating, trying to get the Gods to grant me a vision of the future, and what I saw… Derek, we’re all going to die. Something is happening in New York, at a place called Prospect Mountain.”

“In Lake George?!” He demands.

Lydia does a double-take. “You know it?!”

“After the fire, Laura and I went to live with our grandparents in Bolton Landing, it’s a little neighborhood just north of the village. I went up the mountain a few times. What’s happening out there, what did you see?!”

“The sun was totally blacked out by an eclipse, and- and…” She trails off, overwhelmed and on the brink of tears. “It looked like the apocalypse.” She whispers.

Derek swallows, pulling her in for a hug. “I’ll call my grandparents, see if they can’t fit us in. Sit down, I’ll call now.”

She does as directed, and he heads for where he left his iPhone on the kitchen counter. Picking up the smartphone, he thumbs through his contacts until he sees the name **Grandma Rose.** He hasn’t spoken to them since Cora came home, and that’s almost three months now. He doesn’t even know if he’ll be welcomed, or even answered. Steeling himself, Derek taps the contact and hits the call button.

The line rings for what feels like forever, before a voice both gentle and steel strong breaks the ringing.

 _‘Derek, sweetheart!’_ His grandmother cries, sounding both joyous and shocked. _‘How are you?’_

“I’m okay, Grandma.” He replies. “How’s things back east?”

_‘You try managing a pack more than a hundred strong, and tell me how well it’s going.’_

“Same as ever then?” He asks, chuckling.

_‘Wouldn’t change a thing about it.’_

“Look, Grandma, Lydia, my emissary, she said she had some kind of vision… a vision that showed her Prospect Mountain.”

_‘Did she say what the vision was about?’_

“She said it looked like the apocalypse.”

Rosalie Collins, perhaps the most powerful werewolf in the United States and Canada since her daughter-in-law’s death, is a hard woman to catch off guard, but her reply sounds as though she has been shaken to the core.

‘ _You’re certain it was Prospect Mountain?’_ She asks.

“Positive.” Derek replies. “Look, she’s made it clear, we _have_ to go out there. Do you think you can fit us? There’ll be nine of us.”

_‘Of course, sweetheart. And to see Cora, after all this time…’_

“She’ll want to see you, too. Thank you, Grandma. I’m gonna try to get on the first flight I can, expect us sometime in the night.”

_‘I’ll be ready, be sure to call when you land. Listen, Derek, whatever this is, I want you to be careful.’_

The younger wolf takes a moment to compose himself and nods. “We will. I love you, Grandma.”

_‘I love you, too, little one. Bye.’_

He takes a steadying breath, and heads for the first floor library where there are several computers on desks. Talking to family is always a difficult thing for Derek, and, as much as he does love his grandparents, the fact that he still feels responsible for the death of his father, their son, it makes him ache every time he sees them. None of that matters now, though. All that matters is getting to the bottom of Lydia’s vision.

Derek turns the computer on and browses flights until he finds one that works, a 2:30 out of San Francisco that’ll get to Albany by just after eleven. He then proceeds to make his debit card weep bitter tears as he buys nine first class tickets, and prepares to wake the house. First, however, he heads to where Lydia has settled to watch television in the living room.

“Lydia?” He asks, catching her attention. “I’ve bought the tickets. Listen, you go on home, get some clothes together, make yourself up, and head back here, okay? We have a flight just after two. Go home and shower.”

She visibly relaxed when she’s told they’ll be leaving today, and stands up to grip him in a tight hug. _“Thank you.”_ She whispers fiercely, before leaning back and catching sight of herself in a decorative mirror.

“Jesus, I really do look like Hell.” Lydia says to herself.

“Go fix that.” Derek chuckles. “I have to get everyone ready.

The witch nods, and heads for the door. Derek makes for upstairs, and knocks on everyone’s doors, making sure they are up and ordering them to the sitting area at the top of the stairs.

The last person he wakes is Stiles, pressing a kiss to his forehead and gently shaking him awake.

The human stretches and groans, smiling up at Derek with sleep in his eyes. “Hey.” He whispers, voice thick with disuse.

“Hey, yourself. Look, I need you to get dressed, we have pack business. Something’s happening.”

Stiles sits up, concern painting his face. “Something bad?”

Derek sighs. “I don’t know. I’ll tell everyone once they’re all out there.”

Once they’re at least half dressed, the betas trickle out into the collection of chairs and couches at the top of the stairwell. Derek is both amused and not at all surprised to see Danny and Isaac slip out of the same bedroom, leaning against one another and smelling of something that is suspiciously close to sex. After allowing everyone a moment to gather and pay attention, he begins.

“Last night, Lydia had some sort of vision. It called her to a place in New York called Lake George. Conveniently enough, it’s the home of my grandparents. I need you all to pack at least a week’s worth of clothes, we have a flight from San Francisco to catch.” He plainly states.

Erica raises an eyebrow. “A vision? You’re dragging us all across the continent for a vision?”

“It was a powerful one, Erica.” Derek says. “Whatever she saw, it was enough to terrify her. She called it the apocalypse. If _Lydia_ is frightened by this, I am, too. Her word is good enough for me.”

Danny nods. “I’ve known Lydia since we were five. I trust her.”

One by one, the betas all give some form of agreement, and they then break for their rooms to pack clothes. Danny puts on a shirt and heads for his own home, where he still has kept most of his personal effects. Stiles gives a pointed look to Derek, and then steps into their bedroom. The werewolf, of course, follows.

**-Ω-**

Deucalion and Kali stand on the boulder used to define the edges of the vast parking lot at the top of Prospect Mountain. Normally, the place would be flooded with tourists, but the entire peak has been closed for the summer due to “infrastructure problems” that they’re quite certain are engineered by the Druid woman calling herself Jennifer Blake.

They can feel something shifting in the mountain. There is a road that extends from the lot, curling around the massive jutting piece of stone nearly five stories high that marks the peak of the mountain. She is stirring in Her sleep. Kali grew up hearing the stories that the Gods decided, thousands of years ago, to steal away to the corners of the world and sleep. They decided to leave man to his own devices, that Prometheus’ stolen knowledge would sustain them far better than any divine guidance, and so they hid themselves away, entrusting the care of their resting places to a few blessed mortals.

Time passed, and those few who knew the whereabouts of the Ancient Ones perished, and the tombs were forgotten, the Gods inside them left to slumber eternally. This one, however, was only just found once more. Inside, perhaps the greatest power of the ancient world. The Earth Mother Herself sleeps within the very peak of this humble mountain, and soon She shall be awoken, and they shall use the magic that has kept Her asleep for so long to bend Her will to theirs.

Deucalion sighs, turning to his companion. “How humiliating. Reduced to begging for help from hunters and corrupt Druids.”

“We do what we must.” Kali replies. “Besides, we need someone skilled in magic to do this properly. If we wake Her without the proper safeguards, She’ll turn on us.”

“Your faith in Gaea is astounding, love.” He sounds sarcastic as he speaks.

“You can feel Her, Duke. I know you can. Stop pretending this is all legend and superstition. She’s right there, a hundred yards from us.” She snaps, pointing at the cliffs.

“Trouble in paradise?” A gruff voice breaks from across the empty lot.

Gerard Argent walks towards them with purpose, trailed by his nephew Jim. Jennifer Blake flanks them both, smiling brightly at the two werewolves.

“Just debating our position. Hello, Gerard.” Deucalion replies, his accent making the already formal greeting sound like something out of Downton Abbey.

“How was your flight?” Jennifer asks.

“Tedious.” Kali says. “You said you needed us for this.” She directs the second statement to Gerard.

The Argent patriarch nods. “Let’s get to the peak. I’ll explain more there. Please, get in the car. Save us all the hike.”

Once at the peak, Gerard takes them to where the symbol of Gaea, the tree with the triskeles in its branches, is carved into the rock. He traces it gently with his fingers before he turns to them to speak.

“The magical bonds that have let the Earth Mother sleep for so long require great power to break, but even greater power to manipulate. Playing puppet master with a Goddess is no easy task.” He murmurs.

Deucalion and Kali are overcome by a feeling like ice in their veins, and they are paralyzed. From behind them, Jennifer’s eyes glow neon blue with energy as she holds them still with her magic. The alphas are unable to even speak, but there is true fear in their eyes, which frantically dart back and forth.

Gerard gives a wistful grin as he continues. “If Jennifer is to safely command Her, her spark alone won’t be enough. We don’t need _you,_ I’m afraid, just your power. I don’t plan on sharing the benefits with bitch spawn, especially those that are traitors to their own kind.”

“Before I kill you, however, I should let you know something, Kali.” Jennifer says. Then, something terrible happens, something that adds even more fear to the she-wolf’s eyes.

Jennifer’s face morphs, her beautiful visage becoming something awful and cruel, marred by claw marks, pale and mutilated. Besides fear, there is recognition in Kali’s eyes.

The dark Druid nods, her awful face curling in some twisted imitation of a smile. “Yes, Kali. It’s me. I’ll let you know of a little secret.” She says, pulling out the ancient blade she sacrificed the girl to cure Gerard with. “You should have made sure I was dead when you mauled me.”

With that, she pierces Kali’s stomach with the blade, her eyes going from blue to white as she invokes some of the most powerful, most forbidden magic in the known world.

Her voice echoes as though many are speaking as she calls out in Greek. _“Σκοτεινή Μητέρα, δώσε μου τη δύναμή της! Επιτρέψτε μου να διεκδικήσω τη δική τους εξουσία ως δικό μου!”_

Kali’s eyes blaze from red to blue, and there is a thunderous flash as the alpha spark leaves her and floods into Jennifer. Then, all at once, her eyes go to their human brown, and she falls limp to the ground, dead in an instant. Jennifer repeats this with Deucalion, stealing his power and letting his corpse fall unceremoniously next to his second’s.

The Druid raises a hand, and, without even speaking, fire consumes the bodies, burning in mere seconds until there is nothing, not even ash, left of the Alpha of Alphas and his second in command. There isn’t even blood or scorch marks on the rocks left, nothing to hint that the man and woman known as Deucalion and Kali ever existed.

Jennifer’s mauled visage takes back its usual beauty as she reasserts the glamour that hides her scars, and she smiles brilliantly at the two Argent men.

“It’s a step. But we need more. Not to worry, it’s coming.” She says, striding towards the car.

Some miles away, on the shores of Lake George, a willowy, dark skinned woman feels something, a sudden flare in the very halls of her soul, as the magic of the land, which she has bound to her own, responds to _something_ unnatural happening nearby. Marin Morrell gets up from where she sits on the beach, and marches towards the largest of the collection of log cabins on the property to where her alpha is.

The emissary does not even have to enter as Rosalie Collins, five foot ten and now pushing her nineties, steps out onto the front porch, her deceptively young features alight with joy.

“What’s happening, Rose?” Marin asks.

“Derek is coming, and he’s bringing Cora and the rest of his pack!” She says, smiling. “Says his emissary has had some vision of the mountain, something bad, but he’s coming home!”

“Huh.” The druid says, now sure of something, but what she cannot say.

Rosalie looks at her with concern. “Something off, Marin?”

“No, I just thought I felt something.”

“It might be worth investigating. Always trust a gut feeling.”

“I know.” Marin replies, smiling at her alpha. “And never trust your first thought.”

The alpha chuckles. “I’ve taught you well over the years, old friend.”

**-Ω-**

John sees them to the airport, but cannot go further. He presses a rare kiss to his son’s forehead, and makes him promise to be safe. Stiles does as asked, and then makes his way over to the pack where they wait to board their first class flight. Their bags are all checked, and everyone has a carry on as well. Derek was extra generous and made sure they had priority boarding, so they are the first to get to their luxurious seating.

Not even twenty minutes later, their flight is lifting off for a long, non-stop trip to Albany, New York.  Stiles and Derek are seated close together, having raised the arm separating their seats to allow them to lean against one another while they share a set of earbuds and watch Netflix on Stiles’ laptop. The human nuzzles his head into the shoulder of his werewolf counterpart, already considering a nap, but a flight attendant stops next to the two of them to take their orders for the first of three in-flight meals.

“For our first meal, you have the choice of chicken marsala, prime rib, or pozole, a Mexican soup. What can I get you gentlemen?” She asks, smiling brightly at the two of them.

The two of them break into giggles, until Derek is finally able to force out the words ‘prime rib’ for both of them, leaving the attendant extraordinarily confused.

Across the cabin, Danny raises a brow at Stiles and Derek in their fit of giggles, but turns to Isaac with a shrug and a grin. The paler of the two teens is browsing one of those god-awful airplane magazines, looking for the most ridiculous products available in _SkyMall._ After a while, Danny slings an arm over his shoulder and pulls him close, smiling at Isaac as he pulls him in to nestle in the crux of his shoulder.

“Hey.” He murmurs to him.

Isaac looks up at him. “Hey, yourself.”

“So, Derek did mention that we’ll have our own cabin at his grandma’s camp thing…”

“Yeah?”

Danny looks down to him with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. “Maybe we should put that privacy to use.”

Isaac’s heart stutters a couple of times, and a deep flush covers his high cheekbones, but he also tries and fails to suppress a grin as he does. Instead, he just cuddles further into Danny’s side, wrapping an arm around him and looking out the window to the vast world outside of their cabin. The other wolf responds by pulling him even closer, and resting his chin on the crown of Isaac’s head.

**-Ω-**

Allison lets her tenth arrow fly at the target, conveniently shaped like a werewolf in the shift, crouched and roaring. She’s ten for ten on kill shots, each one piercing the throat and severing the spinal cord, one of the few injuries even those mutts can’t recover from. No, not mutts. Scott is a wolf, and he’s not a mutt. He’s still a person. Hale and his pack? _Those_ are mutts.

“Excellent work, Allison!” The instructor says, grinning at her. “You’re doing the Argent name proud.”

“Thanks, Rita.” She replies, heading to collect her arrows from the targets.

Once she’s back, Rita claps her on the shoulder. “You’re free for lunch, kid.”

Allison heads for the great hall, which is a large log structure overlooking Indian Lake, where dozens of hunter kids mill about, many sitting on the grass and soaking up the sunshine as they eat. She spots a few friends she’s made, and plans to head over to join them after she has her lunch, but something cuts her off.

The huntress wishes she could say she’s surprised, but she really isn’t. Her grandfather stands there, looking better than he has in years, and next to him is her cousin, James. He smiles welcomingly at her, taking off his paperboy cap and angling his head in acknowledgement.

“I should’ve known even _that_ wouldn’t kill you.” Allison seethes. “Who saved you this time?”

“A friend.” He replies. “Now, are you going to help me deal with that insipid Hale pack or am I gonna have to drag you from this camp by force?”

As much as she hates her grandfather, it takes Allison five minutes to pack her bag, and within ten, she’s in the black sedan as it speeds down Route 28 towards Lake George.

**-Ω-**

Interstate 87, better known to the locals as the Northway, is maybe the prettiest stretch of highway Stiles has ever ridden up. He is, at this point in his life, thoroughly over the coastal California highway, having ridden up and down the damn thing so many times that he’s sick of it. But this beautiful road is flanked by dense forests of pine trees, which break apart near the exits to reveal the charming little towns and rolling fields of farms of Upstate New York. Even in the darkness of the night, with only a half moon to show the world, it’s beautiful.

They approach a pair of twin bridges, their burgundy tresses lit by orange street lamps, and the rental car cruises over the Mohawk River without a problem as they cross from Albany to Saratoga counties. Derek has their vehicle pushing the limits of reasonable speeding, the speedometer have not gone under eighty since they got onto the Northway. Stiles sighs, leaning against the window and reaching with his free hand to intertwine his fingers with Derek’s.

“Get some sleep.” The alpha softly suggests. “It’s still another hour to exit twenty three.”

The teenager shakes his head. “Not tired.” He lies, even as he yawns.

“Stiles,” Derek insists. “Rest. You won’t miss anything, I promise.”

“Okay…” He grumbles, and drifts off.

In the back seat, Lydia lays with her head on Jackson’s lap. She can’t get the vision of Stiles with glowing eyes of green and a radiance like the sun out of her head. The vision hadn’t just been clairvoyance, it was so all consuming it was as though she truly were on the mountain, living out the moment. It was terrifying. She can still recall every detail with perfect clarity, and the sight of auroral animals battling in the sky was so spectacular and terrifying she wonders if it’ll ever leave her dreams.

Jackson’s hand runs idly through her hair, and he looks down and looks down at her with a sleepy grin. Regardless of how preoccupied she is, Lydia still spares a moment to smile back at him, reaching up to run her fingers along his jaw as she does. They’ll be okay, they always are.

**-Ω-**

It’s almost three in the morning by the time the two rental cars pull up the long, winding drive of the private residence of Derek’s grandparents, and the pack can barely get a sense for the scale of the place, only that it is quite large indeed, based on the few buildings that actually have lights on in them. Waiting on the porch of a particularly large log cabin is a couple who appear maybe in the late forties.

The woman is rather tall, with curves and a heart shaped face. Her blonde hair is clipped back, and the eyes that smile at them as they unload their bags are one hundred percent Derek’s. The man is just a hair shorter than his companion, with brown locks that are just shy of being considered shaggy, and an easy grin with blue eyes that sparkle mischievously.

It is Cora who first approaches them, skittish like a wild animal as she does. Shock paints their faces as they take in the visage of their granddaughter, until the woman rushes forward to wrap in a crushing hug, sobbing as she does. Likewise, Cora bursts into tears almost immediately as the man joins the embrace, wrapping his arms around both his wife and granddaughter at once.

“Oh, my sweet little girl.” Rosalie Collins manages to force out. “Why didn’t you come to us? Why didn’t you find us?”

Cora looks up at her, and for a moment she seems to be ten years old again. “All I knew was someone wanted us all dead, so I ran. I ran as far as I could, to somewhere no one would look.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re safe. You’re safe and you’re _here.”_ She firmly replies. “Derek, come here.”

The younger alpha does as order, pulling his grandmother into a tight hug and kissing her cheek. “Hi, Grandma.” He says.

“I believe introductions are in order?” Derek’s grandfather says, looking to the rest of the Hale pack.

“Ah, yes. Everyone, these are my grandparents, Rosalie and Jonathan Collins. This is my pack. My second, Isaac Lahey, my betas Jackson Whittemore, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd, and Danny Mahealani. My emissary, Lydia Martin, and my… my mate. Genim Stilinski, but we call him Stiles.” Derek says, looking to Stiles to question if calling him his mate was alright, and finding his face stunned and little else.

Rosalie grins widely. “Wonderful to meet you all. You’ve had a long trip, let’s get you all to bed. There’ll be time to get to know one another in the morning.”

“Follow us, we’ll show you to your cabins.” Jonathan says.

The impressively spacious cabin allotted for Derek and Stiles comes complete with a kitchenette, a living room, and a separate bedroom. Stiles lets go of his bags and heads to en suite bathroom relieve himself, before returning to find Derek sitting at the bed, staring at his hands in his lap.

The human sits next to him, pulling Derek’s hands into his. “What, what is it?”

“I just…” Derek sighs, uncertain. “Was that okay? Calling you my mate?”

Stiles laughs, wrapping an arm around Derek’s shoulders and kissing his cheek. “Of course it was, you goofball. I live in your house, I sleep with you in every sense of the word, I make you breakfast, for God’s sake! Dude, I’d be a little offended if you didn’t consider me your mate by this point.”

The elder turns to him, with rapturous joy in his eyes, and sweeps him up in a crushing embrace, laughing out loud in a way he hasn’t in years. Derek pulls back, taking in the sight of this human he loves so much more than he thought he ever could again, and he presses his lips to his in some attempt to convey the depth of emotion he feels. Stiles responds immediately, meeting him with equal passion and adoration.

The kiss, already burning with passion, rises in its heat as Stiles lets his hands run down the sides of Derek’s chest, the familiar forms setting his blood to boil. When his hands reach the firm curve of the werewolf’s ass, Derek moans brokenly into his mouth, breaking the kiss to nip at Stiles’ jawline. He relishes the feel of the soft skin of the other’s neck against his cheek as he travels further down, pushing his shirt aside to worry a mark against his collar bone.

“Fuck, _Sourwolf…”_ Stiles sighs, leaning against his mate. “Clothes, off, now.”

Derek complies, too fueled by desire to object to the use of his unwanted nickname, even during sex. He pulls back to tear his shirt off, flinging the offending garment off into some corner of the room as Stiles does the same. Shirtless, the two men crash into one another, their skin burning like fevers as Derek lets out an audible growl and his eyes go alpha red.

Stiles looks at Derek, who is clearly clinging to the last threads of control, and gives a grin that is half desire and half derangement. “Do it.” He orders. “Let go, baby.” Derek seems uncertain, but the human nods, taking his hand and laying it over his heart, and repeats himself. “Let go.”

It’s all it takes for Derek to let the wolf out, going headlong into the beta shift. Stiles pulls him in close, gently biting at one elongated earlobe, kissing at the freshly formed muttonchop running down his cheek before cutting across to his mouth, gently exploring the confines of the space with his tongue while avoiding the fangs.

“Stiles…” Derek slurs, half from the difficulty of talking around his sharper teeth, and half from the haziness of the lust clouding his mind.

The human shoots him a cocky grin and is over to his bags in a flash, retrieving a tube of lubricant from a side pocket. “Let me, I just want to see you. Also, claws, soft tissues, not a good combination.”

With that, Stiles peels off his jeans and underwear in the same fell swoop, laying back onto the mattress and spreading his legs apart. He opens the lube, and spreads it onto his fingers, trying to warm it up as best as he can before he takes a deep breath to relax, and presses his middle finger against his entrance. He’s done this for a few years now, since he was thirteen and discovered the wide world of internet pornography. He shivers with pleasure at the familiar intrusion, and looks over to where Derek is watching in rapt fascination, his crimson eyes practically boring a hole through the spot where Stiles’ finger slowly moves back and forth in his opening. Heh, _hole._  Even during sex, he’s still hilarious.

For Derek, the pressure of his jeans is too much against his straining hard-on. He stands, shuffling out of them and gripping his now-free erection, lazily moving his foreskin back and over the head as he takes in the glorious sight of Stiles slipping another finger inside his ass. The sights, the sounds, the _smells,_ they’re driving him mad. His mate is absolutely beautiful, canting his hips upward against his own will and seeking friction for the weeping erection that now audibly smacks against his stomach. The salted scent of pre-ejeculate bursts into the confined air of the room when Stiles manages to crook his fingers against his prostate.

When he manages to comfortably accommodate three fingers inside himself, Stiles sits up, smiling at Derek, and motioning for him to come forward. The werewolf does as ordered, crawling up the bed and planting himself in the space between the younger man’s legs. He leans down, carefully kissing him, and Stiles obliges him for a moment before breaking the contact to reach for the lubricant. He spreads more on the palm of his hand before reaching for where Derek’s cock hangs heavy between his legs, spreading the cool gel over the organ. Derek takes a shuddering breath, and then looks to Stiles.

“You good?” He asks, sounding incredibly gone.

Stiles nods. “Yeah… do it.” He replies, equally wrecked.

The werewolf complies, aligning himself against his mate before pressing in, the familiar warmth of Stiles greeting him like an old friend. They moan in tandem as Derek continues until his buried up to the hilt, caging Stiles between his arms. The human wraps his legs around his lover’s waist and urges himself closer, an unspoken signal to move, which he does. Slowly at first, Derek rocks against him, leaning down to kiss Stiles once more. The two swallow each other’s moans as Derek gently picks up the pace.

Stiles arches his back against the mattress, crushing the pillow beneath his head and crying out as Derek finds the angle needed to brush against that amazing spot within him. He reaches up towards the alpha’s face, feeling the hairless skin of his brows and the angular jut of the bones within his face that the beta shift has caused. Derek’s eyes are twin suns burning red against the darkness of the night, and he is helpless but to get lost in their glory, until the words slip from his lips like gospel.

“The- _fuck!”_ He’s broken off by a particularly spectacular thrust. “The mating bite. Do it. Do it now.” Stiles pants. “Please, claim me, Derek.”

Derek’s thrusts slow marginally as he studies Stiles’ face carefully. “Are you sure?” He asks. “There’s no going back. This is _forever,_ Stiles. You’re talking about our souls.”

 _“Please!”_ Stiles keens.

There is nothing but sureness in his heartbeat, and that is what drives Derek to his decision. Even as they’re joined in the most intimate of ways, Stiles is steady like a rock against a raging ocean. He reaches deep in the reservoir of power within the alpha spark, and partitions it. With that, Derek rears his head back and goes for the crux of Stiles’ neck.

He bites to break skin, but not to turn, and he feels the rush of the piece of his spark into Stiles as a piece of the human’s soul intertwines itself with his soul. Stiles angles his head and does the same, sinking dull human teeth into his neck and he can feel Derek’s soul wrapping around his. All at once, their orgasms are ripped out of one another simultaneously by the power of the bond sealing itself between the two.

When they finally come down, Derek eases himself from Stiles and looks at the mess they’ve made of the sheets of their bed, which are stained with blood, semen, and lubricant. That’ll be something they’ll have to have Lydia remedy, or maybe just wash them himself. Stiles lays beneath him, completely blissed out.

“That, my wolf man, was… fucking _fantastic.”_ Stiles breathes out heavily. “You’re a god…”

Derek blinks as the full weight of his actions hits him. “Stiles, we basically just got married.”

“I know.”

“And you’re okay with this? Us being bound together, for all eternity?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? You’re a catch.”

“Well, I’m yours. From now until the end of time.” He says, pulling his mate, his _bonded_ mate, close to him and drifting off to a deep, dreamless sleep.

**-Ω-**

The airfare from California to New York isn’t cheap, but money is no object to Alan Deaton. He has full access to the funds of the Druidic Order, as all members do. The various accounts stashed around the world total up to somewhere in the seven hundred billion range, some stretching as far back as the Roman Empire.

He’s sensed… _something._ Something big, and very important. He knows it has something to do with the Hale pack suddenly taking an “extended vacation, conveniently back to where Derek’s grandparents maintain the largest pack in North America, and with it one of the largest territorial stretches on Earth. Through either vassals or direct control, the Collins pack has basically the entirety of Upstate New York under their thumb. His presence will no doubt be noticed by his damned sister, but hopefully she won’t be an issue.

Deaton pulls out his cellphone and goes to where the contacts read _‘Scott McCall’_ and presses the call button.

_‘Deaton? What’s happening?’_

“Scott, there’s something we have to deal with. Pack your bags, we’re heading to New York.”

_‘What? New York? Why?’_

“I’ll explain everything on the way to the airport, just get ready. I’ll be by in an hour.”

With that, he hangs up, and heads for the back room where he always keeps a bag packed and ready in case he has to make a quick exit. Checking the contents to be sure he has all he needs, Deaton takes the bag and heads for his home to prepare for the trip, and the fight that’ll no doubt come from it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woot! Porn! Fuck yeah! I hope you enjoyed, this chapter was like bleeding a stone, but I got it. The ending is in sight, anywhere from four to six chapters, I'm not yet sure, and, depending on what everyone thinks, a possible sequel. For now, though, validate me and my smut writing ass with your reviews and kudos, please and thank you.


	12. The Concept of Grace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... yeah. Look, this chapter gets fucking dark and fucking gory. My advise to you is to skip the gore if you don't like it, you'll be able to draw the necessary conclusions from the next chapter. Otherwise... well, I won't say enjoy, but you know what I mean. Suggested listening is either Bad Blood by Sleeping at Last or Mt. Washington by Local Natives, the song which the title for this fic comes from.

The personal phone Chris Argent keeps in the right breast pocket of every jacket plays its ringtone, and the caller ID reads _‘Rita Shaw’._ He answers on the second ring.

“Rita, what can I do for you? I’m sorry, _what?!_ She just left?! With who?! Oh… Oh, my God. You’re certain? Because I left him for dead after being poisoned and bitten by a damn were, that’s why!” He yells. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. In the meantime, find my daughter, and if you see Gerard, shoot first and ask questions later. Thank you, goodbye.”

He hangs up, and promptly kicks over the large lounge chair in his study. _“Fuck!”_ Chris bellows, before calming himself. He heads back to the desk and opens his laptop, plotting a flight course for himself, because he’ll be goddamned if he’s going to rely on commercial air to get him to New York, and he will not suffer the drive from Albany to Lake George. Instead, he’ll make use of one of several private jets the Guild keeps in San Francisco, and he’ll come in at Floyd Bennett Memorial Regional in Glens Falls.

Chris doesn’t bother to pack his bags, this is going to be a brief visit. He’ll be back by this time tomorrow, after he kills his father and makes sure he stays dead this time.

**-Ω-**

The midday light drifts lazily into the cabin’s bedroom, and the sun is warm on Stiles’ back. He simply lays there for a few moments, enjoying the warmth of the sun and of Derek before his bladder gets the better of him. He eases his way out his mate’s embrace and heads for the en suite, relieving himself. Stiles catches a whiff of himself and wrinkles his nose at the scent of stale sweat and sex that sticks his skin, and so decides to take a shower. Fetching his toiletries from his bag, he warms up the shower, but doesn’t bother to wake Derek. They have business to attend to, and as wonderful as shower sex can be, they can’t afford to be distracted.

Down on the beach, Lydia has been up for several hours already, and she sits across from Rosalie Collins’ emissary, a beautiful, willowy woman named Marin Morrell. Her skin cocoa-colored skin and straight, black hair stands in stark contrast to the flowing, ice blue sundress she wears. The sand beneath her legs is surprisingly soft, and the even lapping of the lake is like a talisman to help her focus.

“Just breathe, and open yourself to the magic of the mountains.” Marin gently instructs, her eyes closed. “Feel the leylines, feel the ebb and flow. It’s like the lake, the energy comes in, the energy comes out.”

Lydia does as instructed, letting her own spark open to the magic surrounding her. It’s different than the magic in Beacon Hills. This magic is older, more… not tame, but that word is in the ballpark. It doesn’t resist, but rather it welcomes her. It feels like an old friend embracing her after not being seen in years.

Marin’s voice breaks through her concentration. “Do you feel it?”

“Yes.” She breathes out. “I can feel _everything._ You, all the wolves here, the towns and everyone in them. I can feel the whole of the Adirondacks.” Her voice is awestruck.

“Good. Now concentrate. Visualize the leylines. Find the one that runs to Prospect Mountain.”

She does as instructed, decreasing her scope of focus until she can find the line she wants. Lydia follows the web of flowing magical energy until she can see the path that leads right up the side of Prospect Mountain, where it winds and winds around the peak, like a ball of twine wrapped into a sphere before continuing on its path southward towards New York City.

“Why does it do that?” She asks, still not opening her eyes.

“The line was manipulated thousands of years ago. There’s… _something_ in that mountain. Something that had to be locked away.” The older woman explains. “We haven’t been able to see past the boundaries to what it is, but it’s something powerful.”

Lydia shakes her head. “Not something. Some _one._ Did Derek’s grandmother explain why we’re here?”

“You saw something. A vision of the mountain.”

“It’s easier if I show you. Can you meld us?”

Marin leans over, resting her hand along Lydia’s psi points and forming a bridge between their minds. The young witch lets the vision flow through her mind, the eclipsed sun, the warring aurorae, the strange creature that is and isn’t Stiles, all of it. The instant the vision is complete, Marin’s hand recoils from her face and she scrambles back, her eyes wide with shock.

“That is… we have to open that mountain.” She pants, wiping her hair out of her face. “I thought it was myth…”

“What? What was myth?!”

“The Earth Mother. They said the Gods chose to sleep thousands of years ago, hiding away in the most remote parts of the world. Gaea, She’s there. She’s sleeping on that mountain, and we have to wake Her before someone else does.”

Lydia’s eyes go big as dinner plates as she wraps her head around the notion. A Goddess, asleep in a mountain, and they have to wake Her up. Wonderful.

**-Ω-**

Erica wakes up with Boyd wrapped around her tighter than a vice. This isn’t unusual, as he’s done this every night since they were reunited. The dreams of their time being held by the alphas haven’t left either of them, and it’s not unusual for one or both to wake up with tears streaming from their eyes and tremors wracking their bodies. It’s easier in the day, when there’s always _something_ to do, but in the quiet hours, they are left alone, only each other and the memories of torture and torment to keep them company.

There were, fortunately, no nightmares last night, for either of them, if the deep, even breathing coming from her lover behind her is any indicator. Erica smiles and nestles deeper into Boyd’s embrace for a moment, until she feels the telltale growl of her stomach, and decides that she needs something to eat.

“Babe.” She whispers, gently extracting herself from Boyd’s arms. “Babe, wake up.”

Her boyfriend rolls onto his back and yawns. “Hmm?”

“Get up, Boyd, I’m starved.” She chuckles.

The other werewolf opens his eyes and gives a sleepy smile to her. “Hello, beautiful.”

“Hello. Now, up. Food, Vernon. I’m hungry.”

“And one track minded.”

Erica just smiles and nods, flouncing over to their bags to fish her toiletries out of them and heading for the shower. Meanwhile, Boyd just lays on the bed, taking in the sounds of Lake George in the afternoon. There’s the sounds of boats and the people on them on the lake, and the closer sounds of over a hundred wolves going about their daily routines. There are other sounds, too, like the creatures of the forests, and, just once, the deep, nearly inaudible sound of the very mountain they are on settling as the processes deep beneath the surface fuel the gradual uplift of these ancient mountains.

Eventually, his girlfriend emerges from the shower to dress herself in a pair of daisy dukes and a flowing shirt. Her hair is down and falls in loose curls, and she puts on a pair of large sunglasses.

“Get dressed, Vernon. Mama’s hungry.” She says, bending over to kiss him.

Once they reach the great hall, they find that lunch is nearly served. The two of them grab a seat at a small table with Isaac, Danny, and Jackson, who are all making polite chatter. A few minutes later, a buffet of sandwiches, meats, and sides is brought out, and it’s quickly a scramble for all the best foods. The five of them enjoy their meals and each other’s companies, until a stricken-looking Derek enters the room and jerks his head for them to follow.

**-Ω-**

“My sister hasn’t spoken to me in years, but I know she’s here. She’s the Emissary to Derek’s grandmother, Alpha Rosalie Collins.” Deaton says as they walk down Canada Street in the Village of Lake George.

Scott tilts his head in confusion. “Why’s that matter if you haven’t talked in years?”

“We’re family, and both magically gifted. We can sense each other, and I can feel her magic all over this place.” The Druid explains. “Which means that she can feel me right now.”

“Is she going to be a problem?”

“I don’t know.”

The two of them walk in a troubled silence through the busy roads. It’s the beginning of August, the busiest part of the summer for the tourist town, and the sidewalks are crowded with people chattering in a wide variety of languages. Nearly eight million people visit the town every year, excluding locals from the surrounding towns, and many of those are international visitors.

Passing kitschy tourist shops, historical attractions, and all other manner of things, they eventually find their way into a small coffee shop, where they grab a table. Scott turns to his mentor, confused. “Why are we here?”

“Because, we are waiting for someone.” Deaton serenely replies. “Go order a coffee, if you like, it’ll be a moment. It’s a bit of a drive from Indian Lake.”

“Indian… _Allison?!”_ He asks, suddenly thrilled. “You got Allison?”

The elder smiles and nods once. “I sent someone after her.”

They sit in quiet for a good fifteen minutes, with Deaton browsing his laptop and scribbling notes in Latin and Greek into a pocket notebook. Then, in walks Allison, trailed by someone who makes Scott stand abruptly enough to knock down his chair as he snarls, barely keeping the wolf contained. Behind his girlfriend is a man he long thought dead, none other than Gerard Argent.

“Careful, Mr. McCall, we wouldn’t want to cause a scene.” Gerard tuts, pulling up a chair. “Besides, we’re all on the same side here.”

“And what side is _that?”_ Scott snipes.

“The side against Derek Hale.”

Allison bends over, kissing Scott’s cheek and pulling him close. “Scott, baby, hear him out.”

“Fine.”

**-Ω-**

Jennifer smiles as she stands on top of the mountain, feeling the convergence of the leylines on this very spot. She roots through the magic to feel the Earth Mother’s essence locked in the stone below, gently prodding at Her as She sleeps. She responds with something like eagerness. How funny, a Goddess being lonely. She’s slept so long She actually misses being awake. Not to worry, She’ll have plenty of company soon enough.

After a few moments of being alone, there is the familiar sound of cars pulling into the parking lot at the observation point. Using the leylines that criss-cross over the entirety of the mountain, Jennifer teleports herself down to meet them, appearing to those exiting the vehicles as a streak of light before blinking back into existence, smiling at them expectantly. There are three new members joining the Argents, and the younger two stare at her shock, but the third stranger only nods, clearly impressed.

“You’ve tethered yourself to the land quite well if you’re able to travel along the leylines.” He says, holding out a hand to shake. “Alan Deaton.”

They each try to probe each other through the touch, and both finds their efforts blocked by impressive mental shielding. “Jennifer Blake. And these two are…?”

“My granddaughter, Allison, and her… _boyfriend_ Scott.” Gerard says, clearly disliking the word boyfriend.

“Ah, the star-crossed lovers I’ve heard about. So impressive you’re able to make it work, considering your differences.” She says to the young couple. “Love truly does conquer all.”

Scott levels a curious look at her, but Allison speaks for him. “Why are we here, what is this place?”

“This,” Jennifer says, making a sweeping gesture towards the stone cliffs a hundred or so yards behind them, “Is where the Earth Mother Gaea sealed Herself away many thousands of years ago, when the Gods decided to go into hiding and sleep away eternity. Three thousand years before even the Vikings reached the shores of Newfoundland, a small flotilla of Greeks travelled here, performing the ritual to seal Her in a temple carved into the mountain itself. They settled this region, marrying into the native population and passing on the secret of the mountain for centuries, but eventually it became little more than a fable.”

“There’s a Goddess in there?” Scott asks, clearly skeptical.

“Indeed there is.” Deaton says. “I can feel… _something._ It’s strong, and profoundly ancient. Let the magic settle into your bones, Scott, you must feel it.”

The young wolf shakes his head. “Nothing. I don’t feel a thing.”

The Druid frowns, but says nothing else. Allison speaks up again, now intrigued. “So what does all this have to do with the Hale pack?”

Deaton replies before Jennifer has the chance. “I have it on good information that my half sister, who is Emissary to Derek’s grandparents’ pack, intends to unseal Gaea, and unleash Her on the world once more. She believes that the Gods must return.”

“Which is bad.” Scott says.

“Very.” Jennifer nods. “The Gods created us, yes, but They were also destructive. They sank islands and wiped out civilizations on whims. We were Their playthings, and when one of Them grew upset, mortals paid the price. They mated with us as They pleased, the males forcing women to carry their demigod offspring and the women abandoning theirs on Earth. They themselves were the both the Gods’ favorites and Their most cursed. The best thing They ever did for us was going to sleep.”

Gerard cuts in, speaking directly to Scott. “Derek Hale intends to help her, along with his Emissary and your best friend. Scott, they will cause the end of the world. This has to be stopped, by any measure necessary.”

Scott swallows, looking deeply torn for a moment before he nods coldly. “Whatever it takes.”

**-Ω-**

_“A Goddess?”_ Isaac asks, incredulous. “An actual fucking _Goddess?”_

Derek and Marin give twin nods, both deadly serious. “One who is far more dangerous asleep than awake.” The Druid says.

Boyd raises a brow. “How so?”

“The Gods were wrathful at times, yes, but history has exaggerated the things They did. There were only ever a handful of demigods, and They only ever destroyed the civilizations who threatened the world. The Atlanteans were sunk because they were amassing a fleet to conquer the entirety of the Atlantic world before moving on to the rest of it. Lycaon was struck down for murdering his son and attempting to feed him to the Gods, who view cannibalism as the most severe crime any being, mortal or immortal, can commit.”

“I don’t see how that makes Gaea dangerous if She’s shielded away behind magic.” Danny remarks.

Lydia enters the discussion. “The magic that sealed Her away is essentially a type of enslavement magic, bending Her will to that of the witches and druids who bound Her. That same magic can be manipulated, turning her into a slave to someone powerful enough to toy with the leylines and the wards in place.”

“So, there’s essentially a divine weapon on top of that mountain, waiting for someone to use it?” Stiles asks, and Marin nods grimly. “Yeah, no, time to wake Her up. I’ll take my chances with the Goddess who has free will. What do we have to do?”

“I’ve instructed Lydia as to how to prepare the way. The break the bonds requires the collective magic of many beings, and ancient texts that I have to travel to Greece to acquire.” Marin says. “Not to worry, I can use magic to get there and back, it’ll only take a couple of hours. Your pack has powerful magic, and the strength of a true family. That, along with Lydia, Rose, and I, will do it. I need you all to go ahead and prepare runes and leyline magic while Rose and I get what we need from Greece.”

Derek steps up. “Whatever you need, we’ll do it. We swore to protect humanity, and this will help keep that promise.” One by one, the pack voices their agreement, and it’s decided. They’re going to free a Goddess.

They prepare to make the drive from Bolton Landing to Prospect Mountain a short time later, after Marin places a few ancient looking books in the trunk of Derek’s rental, along with a pail of Crayola sidewalk chalk in a rainbow of colors that has the words _blessed chalk: for runes_ written on it with black sharpie in Marin’s elegant cursive.

“It’s been closed for the summer due to undisclosed _‘infrastructure problems’,_ so you won’t have any tourist issues, but just have Lydia enchant your approach so you can’t be detected until you get onto the mountain itself.” She instructs them. “Once you get to the peak, Lydia will be able to feel where the lines have been tied together, and she’ll give you all runes to draw onto the stone. There’s also spray paint if there’s grass where you have to make the rune.”

“Spray paint and chalk aren’t exactly exact tools, Marin.” Cora says as she places cans of the aforementioned paint into the truck next to the chalk.

The Druid smiles. “It’s as much about intent as it is making the rune itself. As long as the intention is correct and the symbol is mostly right, the magic will do the rest. Trust in the power of the earth and the leylines.”

Erica shrugs, smiling as she loads into the car. “Come on, this’ll be fun. How many chances do we get to meet a Goddess?”

Cora turns an amused smile on her packmate. “Well, there was this one time back in Brazil…” She trails, before bursting into laughter.

“Sure there was, Hale. Come on, into the car!” The other woman says between her own bouts of laughter.

Not far by, Rosalie lays a hand on her grandson’s shoulder, looking at him seriously. “Be safe.” She instructs. “Both of you.” She adds, looking pointedly at Stiles as he straps his shield and xiphos to his back.

“We will, Grandma.” Derek vows. “Be safe in Greece.”

The older wolf shakes her head. “Don’t worry about me, worry about yourself. I have a bad feeling that this won’t be as cut and dry for you as it should be.”

“If we go into this with a bad feeling, it’ll manifest.” He replies. “Trust in the magic, it’ll come out right.”

“Your parents did such a good job on you. They’d be so proud of the man you’ve become.” She says softly. “Your father, Gods rest his soul, he swore up and down when you were born you were meant for great things. He was right, as per usual.”

Derek swallows thickly, clearly emotional at the mention of his parents. He doesn’t respond with words, but pulls his grandmother into a tight hug and presses a kiss to her cheek. The tall woman walks over to Stiles and does the same to him.

“You’ve made him so happy. His scent hasn’t been this calm since he was fourteen,” She says, smiling at him. “And he’s clearly made you just as happy.” She points to where Derek’s mating bite has scarred over, the enhanced healing of the alpha mate applying even to Stiles in his humanity.

“He has.” The human says, grinning. “And he’s given me a really big family.” He adds.

“So he has. Be safe, Stiles. Take care of yourself, and him.” With that, Rosalie steps back from them both and calls to Marin. “Are you ready, dear?”

“Just about!” She calls back. “Be safe, everyone, we’ll see you in a couple hours.” The Druid says, before heading over to her alpha and linking arms with her. She closes her eyes, and when she opens them again, they glow white. With the same enhanced magical cadence that Lydia had that night in the crater, she speaks in Greek. _“Για τους Δελφούς.”_

With that, the two of them are gone in a flash of brilliant light, and Lydia speaks out in a clearly envious tone. “She has _got_ to teach me that.”

They all pile into their cars after the two women transport themselves to Greece, making the half an hour long drive in a pregnant silence, one filled with equal parts anxiety and excitement. Stiles can’t help but feel like he’s driving towards destiny for a reason he can’t explain, but doesn’t voice the feeling. Once they make it to where the road to the summit splits from Route 9 and find themselves at a traffic sign reading _Road Closed,_ Lydia gets out, casting a quick spell to hide their presence, before making the gates to the road open for them and they are on their way again.

It is only when they reach the parking lot off of the summit do they realize they are not alone, and that an all too familiar set of people are waiting for them. The pack seems to have arrived in the middle of some great Argent family tiff.

“How did you even find me on this mountain, Dad?!” Allison angrily demands.

Chris Argent scoffs. “You think I can’t track your cell phone, Allison?! That’s not the point, what are you doing with _him?!”_ He demands, pointing a gun at Gerard. “Have you forgotten you helped try to kill him two months ago?!”

“This is bigger than that!” Scott says, interjecting, only to have Chris level the pistol at him instead. He bares his fangs and beta eyes in an immediate response.

“Stay out of this, Scott. As for you, Deaton, you should know better. What kind of black magic did he use to come back from what we did, do you even know?” He demands.

“It’s of no consequence, the Hale pack has gone too far this time.” The Druid responds, clearly unphased by the whole affair.

“What the Hell did we do?!” Erica demands.

Scott scoffs, looking right at Stiles as he speaks. “We know what you’re going to do. You’re gonna try and free Gaea, and all the rest of the Gods. We’re gonna stop you.”

Derek lets his own eyes go alpha red, and speaks with the sort of deadly calm only true rage can produce, the same calm Stiles demonstrated to Scott three months ago on his front porch. “Once again, Scott, you have no fucking clue what you’re talking about. Deaton here has only given you half the story. You’re rather good at that, Alan. I wondered if manipulation was something they taught Druids, but after meeting your sister, I realized it’s clearly a natural talent of yours.”

“Lofty words from someone who got his family murdered, Alpha Hale.” Deaton shoots back venomously.

The pack responds immediately, snarling and doing into the beta shift, some of them cursing as they do. Stiles goes for his shortsword, holding the thing in a loose grip with one hand and pulling his shield in front of himself with the other. Silent in the exchange until now, Gerard begins laughing. He doesn’t chuckle or give his usual snide snickering, but actual, full-bellied laughter, like the whole thing is incredibly hysterical to him.

“Oh, you’re all so adorable, getting ready to brawl like the school children you are.” He says when he finally manages to catch his breath. “Let’s end this. Boys?”

Two gunshots ring out from the trees, and there is a sickening sound as the contents of Deaton’s skull are voided out across the pavement and his corpse hits the ground with a quiet _thud,_ dead instantly. The second shot embeds itself in Lydia’s stomach, ripping an agonized scream from her as she hits the pavement, her legs bending unnaturally as the bullet severs her spinal cord and renders her paraplegic.

Before anyone can react, there is an incredibly high pitched sound that Stiles barely registers, but that sends every one of the wolves there to their knees, even Scott. All of them desperately cover their ears and scream out in genuine agony. Stiles is left to stare in horror at his crippled pack, and before he can even react, two hunters are at either side of him, ripping the sword and shield from his arms and easily restraining him.

“Grandpa, what’s happening?!” Allison suddenly yells out as two more of Gerard’s men seize her.

“Change of plans, sweetpea.” He says, pulling out a pistol and emptying six bullets into Chris before his son can even react. “We’re going in a bit of a different direction for this one. Jennifer, would you like to help Miss Martin?”

The dark Druid appears in the same streak as before, riding the leyline down from the summit. She smiles at the strawberry blonde girl crying on the pavement, desperately trying to force the magic needed to heal herself, but finding that it just will not come.

“Oh, poor thing.” She croons to Lydia as another set of hunters lift the young witch up high enough that her useless legs dangle high above the ground. “That’s an enchanted bullet, it’s got your magic all wrapped up. Not to worry, I’ll make it stop hurting. _Σκοτεινή μητέρα, μου δίνετε τη δύναμή της.”_ She says, voice echoing with power.

Jennifer pulls out the same wicked looking blade that she used to kill the others with, and, without even pausing, slashes Lydia’s throat and opens her mouth to actually _drink her blood,_ allowing the fluid to pour over her in a gruesome wave as Lydia gags and feebly struggles for a few seconds before going limp. When the flow trickles to a stop, the men holding her crassly throw her corpse aside, leaving her eyes, wide and unseeing, to stare out across the lake.

 _“You fucking monsters!”_ Stiles bellows, enraged. He kicks and fights against his captors, but they only tighten their hold on him. _“I’ll kill you, you cunt!”_ He screams, spitting in Jennifer’s direction.

Jackson futilely tries to stand up, but the moment he lifts his hands from his ears, a trickle of blood dribbles out of them, and he collapses once more, covering his ears and whimpering. _“Kill… you… all…”_ He manages to grit out, even as the rest of the wolves begin to bleed from their ears as well.

More hunters appear from the visitor’s center at the edge of the parking lot, and they each carry a pair of handcuffs. The men and women, all clad in black military uniforms, handcuff each of the wolves.

“That should keep you nice and pliant.” Gerard says, smiling smugly. “Kill the noisemaker, they’re contained.” He orders, and the noise stops. All of the wolves relax, but the instant they go to shift, they find, much to their horror, they cannot.

Jennifer gives a deranged laugh that only adds to her horror, terrible as she already is, still dripping the blood of their fallen friend onto to the pavement. “Enchanted, my precious mongrels. You’re as good as human in those things. Come on, get them to the summit.”

They are, all them, dragged up the road that curls around to the peak, fighting as best as they can along the way, but unable to free themselves. Allison desperately screams for her grandfather to stop the whole way, and Isaac softly cries as he’s pulled along, even while he fights. Stiles curses and screams, while Scott is easily dragged as he gives the thousand yard stare, clearly in shock.

When they reach the top, Jennifer orders the hunters to arrange them in a circle around the large stone outcropping the marks the very top of the mountain. The granite mound is covered in Greek lettering and runes, and a second set of runes marks the positions where each of them are placed. Stiles is dragged to the middle with Allison, Gerard, and Jennifer, forced to his knees by the two hunters who seized him.

“Now… shall we begin?” Jennifer asks, smiling up the sky, her voice now echoing more like thunder. The power she’s taken from Lydia, raw, unfiltered magical potential, combined with the two stolen alpha sparks, has made her impossibly strong, nearly a God in her own right. She looks up at the sun, where it is just reaching its zenith, and the half moon near the eastern horizon, and then holds out a hand to it. Without speaking so much as a word, she drags to moon across the sky itself until it is locked over the sun, and the world is soaked in the unnatural nighttime of an eclipse.

There is the distant sound of horns honking and the crash of cars as the humans in the village below are caught completely off guard, baffled as they react to the moon travelling clear across the sky in seconds. But that is not the end of it. Jennifer speaks in a voice so impossibly resonant that it cannot be understood by mortal ears, and then the sky is alight with aurorae.

The walls of light bend and take form, shifting into stags dueling wolves, and lions fighting tigers, even two humans locked in combat, their swords crossing and sending out red and blue shockwaves. From below, more crashes, more honking, and now, if one strains the ear, screaming.

“Gerard. Your time to shine.” The mad Druid says, now sounding much more like herself.

The Argent patriarch grabs an enormous broadsword from where it leans against the rock outcropping, and, on a whim, marches over to where Danny is forced to kneel. Gerard raises the sword, when Isaac gives a desperate howl.

 _“No!”_ He screams.

Gerard sneers at the pale wolf. “How precious. It must be awful to watch your mate die, but I always hated puppy love.”

Danny desperately begs. “No, no, no please do-!” But the old man buries the sword in the top of his head, splitting it down far enough to separate his eyes. He easily pulls the blade from Danny’s head, and the instant his blood touches the ground, the rune in front of him glows a brilliant crimson.

Isaac and Boyd both begin to gag before vomiting down their fronts. Erica roars in unadulterated rage, meanwhile a growing dark patch on his pants reveals that Jackson has lost control of his bladder, even as he swears and bellows incredibly graphic threats at the hunters. Cora and Derek are both equally silent, giving the same acidic glare right at Jennifer. Scott stares at the scene unblinking, and Allison is now forcefully bawling.

“Who’s next?” Gerard wonders aloud, before, in the blink of any eye, he’s buried the sword halfway through Cora, who stares up at him, defiant even in death, before the light and the fury leaves her eyes, and she is gone. The glyph before her glows red.

Even unshifted, Erica manages a downright feral roar, bellowing out curses. “Fuck you!” She screams.

With easy purpose, the hunter marches over to her, and speaks to the hunters behind her. “Such improper language for a lady. Pull her up a bit, will you?”

“Erica, no!” Isaac, Boyd, and Stiles all scream. Too late. With her body pulled taut by her captors, Gerard rears back the sword and, with a single swipe, cuts her clean in half. The two sides of the dying girl rest on the grass, and she gags for a few seconds before she dies, and her rune begins to glow.

Without so much as a word, he swings again, this time decapitating Boyd, and, in the same second, drives the sword through Isaac’s skull, spraying Scott with the fallen wolf’s blood. Two more runes shine blood red. The sudden gout of blood seems to be the thing to snap out him out of it, and lucidity returns to his unfocused eyes.

“Stiles!” He yells out. “Stiles, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, you were right!”

Tears burst forth from both of their eyes, and Stiles manages to crane his neck to look at the man he called his best friend for seventy-five percent of his life.

“I’m sorry, too, Scotty.” He forces out. “You’ll always be my brother.”

Gerard scoffs, rolling his eyes. “How touching.” He marches over to Scott, and, rather than just kill him, he forces the sword through his leg, tearing a scream from the omega wolf. Then, the madman does the same with the other leg, before slicing Scott across the stomach, just deep enough to spill his intestines over the grass. Scott screams again, louder this time, and then, as he lies on the ground, Gerard forces the sword clean through his right eye. The screaming stops violently, and, again, the rune in front of him glows red.

Allison screams for her fallen lover, but Gerard ignores her. He crouches down to meet Jackson at eye level, smiling widely at him. “You know how we dealt with kanima in the old days? We burned them alive and scattered the ashes. Unfortunately, we don’t have time for that. I’ll have to settle for cutting you to pieces.”

Jackson manages to scream for a second before the sword severs both of his legs in one swing and his is rendered unconscious by the pain. Gerard stares at the wounded wolf unimpressed, before just driving the sword through his heart and not pulling it out until Jackson’s symbol emits its own crimson light.

Gerard casually strolls over to where Derek is left, the only one of the wolves so still alive, and finds that the alpha is ignoring him. “I love you.” Derek says, craning his neck to see Stiles.

“I love you, too.” The human replies, now himself in tears.

“Don’t look. You don’t need to see this.” He instructs.

The elder human, sword in hand, laughs again. “No, please, Mr. Stilinski, watch. Watch your precious mongrel die.”

“Ignore him, Stiles!” Derek orders, only to have Gerard grab him by the face and force him to look him in the eye.

“I have been waiting _decades_ to wipe your fucking family out. Now, I finally get to. Just shows what patience earns you.” He whispers before jamming the sword so far into Derek’s stomach it breaks through his back with the vile, wet sound of blood pouring onto the grass. Derek gasps, but does not scream, even as the crazed Argent drags the blad upward, slowly splitting Derek’s torso in two. The dying wolf looks up at the sky, locking eyes with the eclipsed sun instead of his murderer. As the sword reaches his heart, Derek’s eyes go unfocused, and the last sight they ever take in is the dancing corona of the sun, and then he is gone.

Stiles feels the bond between them strain, stretch, decay, and finally sever, and the agony of it forces him to his knees. He does not scream, and he does not cry, but a river of tears forces itself from his eyes. He simply has no further capacity for any sort of pain, and he cannot fathom the depth of the loss he is experiencing. How afraid must humanity be right now? How is his father responding to the war in the sky that is doubtlessly raging over Beacon Hills? He cannot begin to consider these questions, because he will go mad if he does.

Gerard sighs. “Less satisfying than expected.” This prompts a snicker from the hunters, all of whom have stepped back from the circle of gore.

Jennifer ignores all of them, muttering to herself in Greek, until, from across the clear sky, enormous streaks of light fall. Thousands of shooting stars burn their way through the atmosphere, and far too many reach the ground. The screams from the streets below grow only louder, and there is a massive, concussive explosion to the south as a large meteor strikes along the Hudson River in Glens Falls, wiping out the city that long ago Look Magazine designated the epitome of true Americana, naming it Hometown, USA. There are other, distant flashes. It seems Jennifer has brought about the end of the world.

There is one streak of light which comes in a strange angle, cutting in over their heads before striking a few hundred yards back. The small impactor shatters, and the dark Druid reaches over her head and catches one of these fragments with ease. The shard glints under the light of the aurora, revealing a long, stake-like shape to it.

“There,” She sighs, smiling brightly. “That solves the problem of meteoric iron.”

“Indeed it does.” Gerard says, coming over to his granddaughter, who herself has transcended into shock. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but the bastards who locked Her away made opening it up like this require the sacrifice of a blood relative.” He reaches up to cup her face, wiping away the tear tracks from her cheeks.

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt, love.” He promises, looking almost remorseful as he raises the massive blade high over his head and brings it down on hers, splitting her skull wide open and bursting its contents onto the ground. The runes all along the stone begin to glow, and, all at once, a set of stairs carves itself into the rock. It takes a few moments for it to form, but Jennifer and Gerard force him along the spiral staircase into what is clearly an enormous and ancient space.

Without even speaking or gesturing, Jennifer manages to force the ancient brassieres to light, filling the blackened chamber with brilliant orange light that reveals a surprisingly spartan space for such a grand purpose. There are no statues, or mosaics, only Greek writing along the crown moulding, and a marble sarcophagus in the center of the massive temple. It’s clearly built to be open air, as the roof is supported by countless ionic columns like the Parthenon, but there are no interior walls. Instead, outside the columns, there is only rock. The entire summit of Prospect Mountain was raised up to conceal this place thousands of years ago.

Stiles doesn’t even bother fighting against them anymore, he just walks along, unwilling to fight without his pack and without his mate. Jennifer just points at the sarcophagus, and his limbs move without his consent, until he is lying flat on his back on top of the thing. Not that it matters, he wasn’t going to fight anyway. He turns to look at them, and, with a perfectly even tone of voice, he speaks.

“You’ll pay for this. I’ll make sure of it.” He promises, sure in heart the words will come true.

“No, Mr. Stilinski, we won’t. You will, though. You see, we need a mortal body to tether Her to, to keep Her bound to us. You have been chose, my boy. You will be the host to the Earth Goddess.” Gerard says, smiling like he’s just told him he’s won the lottery.

Jennifer, to counter, gives a deranged grin. She’s still soaked in Lydia’s blood, though it’s dried now, staining her skin a rich burgundy. Raising the fragment of meteoric iron, she calls out in English. “Come to me!” She commands, and, all at once, countless lines appear streaking across the room, all before they detach, tethering themselves to the shard she holds.

“Is that…?” Gerard asks, now himself awed.

“The leylines. All the damned things keeping Her trapped, and they’re under our hands.” She nods. She brings it down to where Stiles is still magically bound to the sarcophagus so he can see them all tethered to the meteor shard. Jennifer raises the dangerously sharp thing over her head once again.

And brings it down straight into Stiles’ heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just fucking awful. You should pelt me with rocks and tell me how fucking awful I am in the reviews.


	13. A Reflection of Magnificence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we are, at the end once more. Thank you all, so very much, for the kind words, the kudos, and the bookmarks. You've been so helpful, and your reviews have offered me ideas and directions I never even thought out. Chapter title is from Sleeping at Last's 'Four', that's your suggested listening. So, one last time on this one, enjoy.

Darkness. The inescapable pressure and weight of a consciousness as old as the Earth itself. Memories. The birth of the moon. Two straight centuries of pouring rain that filled the oceans. The rise and fall of continents, the birth of Her children.

The memories blur together into an impossible rush as billions of years go by in seconds. Then, one with absolute clarity. Her priests and priestesses bowing in the temple before Her as the magic chains Her into forced unconsciousness. The long sleep, the deep sleep of dreams, where She saw Her mother and Her siblings and all her many children. The desire of nothing more than to wake as She realized She could think around the magic that kept Her down. The willing exile They undertook, intending to pass eternity unaware, became the most cruel and torturous prison.

How could They have known what the altered enslavement magic would do to the Gods? How could any of Them have guessed that They would be able to remain aware? What _fools!_ Then came freedom, or so She thought. That fragment of fallen star had dragged Her out of one prison and into another, one She could see and move in, but in which She was helpless but to obey when ordered.

This new prison clouded Her mind, dulled Her senses with its mortal form, and it wasn’t even the right sex! Not that She could complain, they kept Her silent unless spoken to. Occasionally, however, something would stir inside of Her, a leftover from the time this one was his own person. Most often Gaea would see a face, one with sharp angles and defined brows and eyes like the forests themselves with their mix of blues, greens, and browns. Even by the standards of divinity, he was beautiful.

Once in a great while, when She sleeps as this body demands, She will hear a voice, one begging Her to wake up, but from what? Just as quickly as She remembers her situation, it is forgotten in the haze of magic, and the mortals She must call master make Her do something else. Deep inside, however, something still remains.

**-Ω-**

Stiles is witness to the horror of it all, forced to watch and feel and hear everything the Goddess that’s taken over his body does as though he’s doing it. Even Her emotions become his own, and the only time he can seem to even get close to Her is when She’s asleep, and it’s never enough.

It’s been a year, or maybe two, the enslavement magic has messed with his sense of time. Gerard and Jennifer have done exactly what they set out to do, they’ve brought the world to its knees. Even at Her weakest, Gaea can raise oceans and sink continents. There was resistance at first, because of course there was, but when, without so much as lifting a finger, a quarter of humanity was made to die various gruesome and agonizing deaths, the nations of the world surrendered. The President of the United States came to Lake George to pay homage to the new rulers of the world and to the Earth Goddess, only for her to be dragged down through a crevice in the earth into a waiting pit of lava at Gerard’s command. Shocker, he was a Republican and hated her politics.

The elderly Argent, made strong and vital by the power of the Goddess, was the enforcement arm of the ruling duo. Jennifer preferred to consult with dark magic and seek to expand their power through occult manipulations that, all too often, resulted in vast swathes of territory turning into twisted magical wastelands, places where time and space and the laws of physics themselves became inverted.

While the Druid played with the fabric of existence, Gerard set out on a genocide of the supernatural. Stiles was forced to watch as packs of werewolves, covens of witches, the remaining Druidic Order, and countless other innocent men, women and children were liquidated with impossible efficiency. What hurt the most, without a doubt, was when, on a whim, Gerard ordered Gaea to wipe Beacon Hills off the map, and, without even blinking, she did. No survivors.

He just doesn’t have the capacity to be shocked, or even horrified anymore. He is, most days, emotionally numb, spare for the transference that comes from the Goddess’ rare moments of lucidity. Some days, however, when they are allowed a few free moments and Gaea takes them to look over the lake, he’ll find himself missing Derek. Once, just once, when the pain was still fresh, their body shed a single tear, and then, reflexively, the Earth Mother clamped down on him and pushed him so far back into Her head he was completely shut away, and, when he finally saw through his own eyes again, six months had gone by without him even noticing.

Still, somehow, he resists. He cannot give up, because if he does, he’ll just become part of the background, another body waiting to die for the glory of the Goddess. He will wake Her up and make them all pay, if it kills him.

**-Ω-**

“What now?” Jennifer asks, clearly annoyed as she pulls away from the ancient tome she’s reading in her private chambers in the temple complex on top of Prospect.

Gerard clears his throat. “Apparently some nuns have been distributing copies of the bible to the mountain bumpkins in Transylvania.”

“They just don’t give up, do they?” She grumbles. “Well, let’s go have Her put in the work.”

The two head for the small room where the Goddess is kept under heavy guard, and enter, finding her sitting at Her desk, reading something or other.

“Hey, we have a job for you.” Gerard barks. Immediately, She stands, facing Her masters.

“Yes?” She asks, bowing as She does.

“Transylvania. Wipe the whole region out, no survivors.” Jennifer orders.

Gaea nods, and speaks through Stiles’ body. “Correct, Master Gerard?” She asks, using the failsafe that both of them must consent to use Her powers, so as to prevent one from turning on the other.

The old man nods once. “Do as she says.”

Instantly, Gaea is travelling across the world through the leylines and into a monastery in Romania. Stiles watches, because he has no choice. He watches as She slaughters the nuns and monks, even the little children in the nursery. He’s impressed when a nun, so old she must be over one hundred, stands in front of the cribs of screaming infants with defiance in her eyes, stretching her arms out in a shield.

 _“Nu le vei atinge!”_ She yells. _“Dumnezeu nu o va permite!”_

The Goddess doesn’t even speak. She reaches out and grabs the old nun by her neck, and crushes it with a single grip. Stiles just disassociates when She reaches the cribs full of babies, and doesn’t refocus until they are out in the courtyard, watching as the mountains of Transylvania themselves roll and ripple, crushing the centuries old castles and their inhabitants.

What catches his eye is a woman clinging to her son, both of them sobbing in Romanian and begging for mercy. The boy couldn’t be more than six or seven, and his mother must be in her late twenties. She is wearing a pair of large sunglasses, and when they fall off as she holds out her hand to repel the approaching Goddess, the shock that runs through them both is enough to bring them up short.

The woman looks exactly like Claudia Stilinski, right down to the wide grey-blue eyes. She could pass for a twin. Memories come rushing back to Stiles, all the pain of his mother’s passing mixed with the joy of her life, all of it, in a tsunami of emotion that has them both rooted to the spot. All he can do is breathe out the word.

“Mom…?”

Holy shit, he spoke. He’s in control.

_NO!_

And just like that, he’s not. The massacre goes on.

**-Ω-**

When the mountains of Transylvania have settled and there is no one left within their holds, they return to Lake George. Something is different, though. It’s the first time She ever even acknowledged his existence. She _had_ to, he’d taken back control, if only for a second. What’s more, it seemed She had felt the same mixture of emotions he had. From there, Stiles begins to hatch an idea. That night, as Gaea drifts off to sleep, he doesn’t start his usual show of begging Her to wake up, to remember who She is. He lets his memories of Claudia flow, from trips to the beach and the local bookstore to countless hours spent in the hospital with her. He remembers the first time she didn’t recognize him, and the last time she did. He remembers the last time they got to watch television together, all the nights he had hospital cafeteria food for dinner, and every instance of stolen pudding cups and traded JELLOs.

Stiles forces Her to watch a mother and son at their best and their worst. He makes the primordial Goddess of Motherhood, the Earth Mother Herself, experience motherhood in the modern world. Through it all he pleads.

 _This is what you’re destroying. This is what they are_ forcing _you to destroy. Please, Mother, this isn’t who you are. You are the caretaker, the protector, not the destroyer. Remember who you are. You’re a mother._

He lets the memories run, all while begging Her. When She wakes in the morning, there’s something different. He tenuously reaches out, speaking to Her for the first time when they’re both awake.

 _Mother._ He calls out. 

Mother? She… She is a mother. She is the Earth Mother. She is a Goddess. Awareness rushes to Her, and, for a moment, She can think around the magic that has made Her pliant and servile.

Stiles tries again, desperate. _Mother, please._

“Son.” She whispers back. “My son.”

_I don’t know how long I have. Please, you have to reverse this._

“I can’t, not like this. Your body is weak, and I am bound to it.” Gaea says, running their hands over the shared form.

 _Then separate yourself from me!_ He shoots back. _If you can be free of this body, can you undo what they’ve done?_

“I am _bound,_ child! The only way for us to be separated is for you to die!” She grits out, exasperated. “I cannot harm this form, we’re lucky I am able to even speak.”

The frustration rips through Stiles, and he wants to scream. Instead, for a second, he is back in control, just long enough to growl out in anger. That’s when it hits him. She might be bound, but _he_ isn’t.

 _Let me take over._ He insists.

The Earth Mother wrinkles their brow in confusion. “Why? What good would that do?”

_I can set you free. I can die._

“That is suicide!” She objects.

_I know. Just do it._

“How do I even…?”

 _Fuck it, I’ll do it myself!_ He conveys, and, with all the rage and grief he’s been forced to hold in for however long they’ve been enslaved, and with a sense of righteous fury for the billions of innocents who have suffered, Stiles forces Gaea aside, and rather than wait to be given his body back, he takes it.

**-Ω-**

Breakfast has just been served to Gerard and Jennifer in the great hall of the temple complex when they see the Goddess stride into the room with purpose, much unlike Her usual dazed meandering. Confused, Jennifer turns to her counterpart.

“Did you give Her an order? She seems awfully focused.” She asks.

The old man shakes his head, equally confused. “No, I didn’t. Hey, what are you doing?” He directs the question at Her, only to be ignored as She strides into the library where Jennifer does her dark work.

“Something’s wrong.” The Druid says. “Get the others.”

They don’t even realize She isn’t even in control anymore. Stiles is on a mission, and he finds exactly what he’s looking for. Jennifer is the type to quite literally hang her victories on the wall, and there, poised in the center of her collection, is Stiles’ xiphos and shield, still shining as beautifully as that day so long ago.

He breaks into an open run across the large space when he sees various hunters entering the room, and is able to make it to his blade before any of them reach him. Grabbing the thing off the wall, he turns just in time to intercept the closest of the hunters, slashing his throat with practiced ease.

 _I can offer you a little assistance in dealing with this._ Gaea voices.

“Do it!” He yells as a group of hunters surround him, all bearing blades.

In an instant, he’s overwhelmed by power he’s never felt before, a raw energy and focus that he swears can almost allow him to predict what they’re going to do before they do it. Taking them down is easy, and, in a matter of seconds, the room is silent but for his tired panting as the boost the Goddess gave him fades.

“Thanks.” He says, wiping the sweat from his brow.

 _The Power of Achilles, it is taxing on mortals._ She says. _But a gift while you have it._

Before Stiles can respond, a gunshot rings out, the bullet passing within a foot of his head before embedding itself in the marble of the wall behind him and pelting him with shards of rock.

“No, don’t shoot!” Jennifer bellows with desperation. “The body can’t die! Take Her alive, you fools!”

The room quickly fills with even more hunters that surround Stiles where he is pinned against the wall, and, like a sea, they part to allow her and Gerard to reach him.

“I don’t know how you broke free, but you _will_ respond to your commands!” Gerard snarls.

Stiles gives a mirthless chuckles. “The Earth Goddess can’t come to the phone right now, care to leave a message?”

“Shit!” The other man curses. “Stilinski, of course you got the better of Her in Her weakened state.”

“Sort of.” He shrugs.

 _Stiles, stop stalling. If you are captured, they will only see to lock us both under tighter bonds._ Gaea pleads.

Jennifer cautiously approaches him, and he raises the blade to point directly at her throat. “Listen, you know you can’t win here. You can’t hope to kill us all.” She says. “Let’s talk.”

“You think I want to kill you? Oh, honey, you’ve got the wrong idea.” Stiles smirks.

As fast as he can, Stiles whirls the xiphos around until it’s pointing at his heart and, without even a moment’s hesitation, drives the blade right into his own chest and clear out through his back. Inside of him, something palpable breaks, and he’s no longer aware of the presence of another mind inside his body.

 _“No!”_ Gerard and Jennifer let out twin cries of horror.

Falling to his knees, Stiles looks up at the two of them, even as the life leaves him and he coughs up a gout of blood. “She’s free…” He whispers, before mustering the last of his strength. “You failed.”

He falls to the floor, still clutching the grip of his sword as he dies.

**-Ω-**

The first thing to come back to him is touch. Stiles is aware of the feeling of dried grass and leaves against his skin, and it’s the first indicator that he is… well, _somewhere._ The remaining senses follow in short order. He can hear the rush of the wind through the trees and smell the richness of the earth on the forest floor, taste the cool air of autumn in the Preserve.

Finally, he opens his eyes, and sees the cool grey sky above him, clouded over so uniformly there is no hint of a sun or cloud, only an endless blanket of slate. Looking around, he sees the area immediately around him, and recognizes it clearly. The old Hale house. Turning around, he sees the ruins as they were in the fall when all of this began, what feels like centuries ago. Beyond that, in all directions, is a thick white fog. It stretches up to meet the sky, and starts just at the tree line. Finally, he speaks out.

“Hello?” Stiles calls, wincing slightly at the pronounced echo that carries back to him. “What is this place?”

At first, there is nothing, then, in the mist, a vaguely humanoid form takes shape, spare what are clearly a set of very large wings. It walks towards him, growing more defined until the being takes its first step out of the mist, and becomes corporeal. Stiles instantly knows the figure, only because she looks so much like her son, in everything except the eyes. Talia Hale.

“Hello, Stiles.” She says, smiling at him.

“I don’t… what is this?” He asks.

The fallen Hale matriarch grabs his hands and pleadingly locks eyes with him. “Listen, I don’t have much time, but you need to know something.”

“What, what is it?”

“This isn’t over.” She says. “Something bigger is coming, something that fate has had ordained since Chaos formed from the void. Something that isn’t yet decided.”

“Talia, I don’t understand, what is coming?”

She looks at him with sheer terror in her eyes. “The Anthropomachy. Humanity and the Gods will go to war, and the winner will decided the fate of not just our world, but every world.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Stiles begs, now himself afraid. “What does that have to do with this? I’m _dead,_ for Christ’s sake!”

“No, you’re just in transit, Stiles. Listen to me carefully. When the war comes, all of you will face terrible choices, but you must choose the path that leads to peace, do you understand me?” She asks.

He nods, swallowing his nerves. “Yes. I understand you.”

“Good. I have to go now, but just remember: Peace must win.” Talia stresses. “Now go, and take care of my family.”

And just like that, he is whisked away from whatever that place is, with only the words _Take care of my family_ ringing through his head, the rest forgotten as though in a dream.

**-Ω-**

Stiles is brought slamming back into his body, staggering as he takes in the scene of the two sides facing off once more.

“…ready to brawl like the school children you are.” He hears Gerard taunt. This time, however, he’s ready.

“Lydia, shield us!” He bellows.

Without even a question, Lydia does it, throwing up a large magical field over all of them, spare the Argents, just in time for the snipers’ bullets to be intercepted, forming twin shatter patterns on the shield, but reaching nowhere near their intended targets.

“Shit!” Gerard curses. “Activate the noisemaker!” But nothing comes. Instead, from the trees and the visitor’s center, the hunters they hid away for the surprise attack all come marching out, each holding their gun and all them with a blank, glazed look in their eyes. “What are you doing?!” He demands, now frantic.

The pack snarls and shifts, and even Chris raises his gun to where his comrades have now lined up, blank-faced as they stare at the rest of them. Jennifer rides the leyline down from the summit, fear plain on her face as she takes in the scene.

“Something’s wrong. I can’t feel Her.” She says.

Just then, the line of hunters all begin to laugh, all of them giving the same demented chuckle. It grows louder and louder until the parking lot is filled with the sound of twisted, hysterical laughter, and just as suddenly, it stops. In perfect synchronization, they raise their pistols into their mouths. There’s a half-second where everyone’s heart stops, all of them genuinely wondering if what is about to happen is really happening.

It does happen. At the exact same moment, twenty gunshots ring out and twenty bodies fall to the pavement, a sea of blood and brains surrounding their corpses. But the horror doesn’t end there. The laughter starts up again, coming from the bodies even as they lay there with the insides of their skulls on the blacktop. Stiles is the first to realize what’s happening, and he begins smiling himself.

The vast surface of the parking lot begins to ripple and shift, before it _absorbs_ the bodies, leaving no trace of the twenty men and women who just commit suicide there, not even the shells from their bullets. The laughter, however continues. It now has a clearly feminine sound, and seems to come from the rocks and the trees, from the very sky itself. There’s a sound of rock shattering and cracking, causing the rest of them to whirl around just in time to see a crevice forming in the cliff face that conceals the ancient temple where the Earth Goddess was sealed away, and for them to see a lone figure step out of it.

Stiles and Scott both give twin sounds of shock as they take in the woman’s face. It’s Claudia, there’s no denying that. Even the pattern of her moles is the same as it was in life. She wears a flowing white toga her son recognizes as a Doric chiton, and her eyes, rather than the cool blue, are a brilliant, almost witchy emerald green. She walks towards them with a confident, easy stride, and spares a soft grin for Stiles and the pack, before rounding on the Argents, Deaton, Scott, and Jennifer.

 _“You.”_ She spits at Gerard, and there is no denying who it really is. Gaea, free at last. “Murderer. Genocidal maniac! You have cheated death enough, don’t you think?”

“Goddess, plea-” He begins to beg, only to begin choking. A few seconds later, he falls to his knees, only to vomit up a sea of black, tar-like bile. He’s being forced to endure wolfsbane poisoning all over again, and it’s awful enough that Erica buries her face in Boyd’s shoulder, unwilling to watch. Stiles and Derek, however, stare impassively.

In less than a minute, Gerard is reduced to the same horrific creature he was after Derek was forced to bite him so long ago, when all of this began. The tumors grow and mutate until the pile of cancer and wolfsbane is no longer even recognizable as human, only for Gerard’s skin to finally tear as it is stretched to its limit, and even more of the black bile pours from his remains as they deflate and are drenched in the substance. In another thirty or so seconds, there is only a puddle of inky poison where a full grown man once stood, and even that drains into the ground itself, leaving no trace of Gerard Argent’s existence.

Next, the infuriated Goddess turns to face Deaton. She raises a hand to grab the top of his head and forces him to his knees. When She speaks, it’s with surprising calm. “Manipulator. You’ve broken your sworn vow as my servant. You have sought to increase your power, to make pawns of the lives of those around you, all in some twisted pursuit of what you call balance.”

Deaton stammers out a plea. “Great Mother, I only wanted to bring about peace and balance.”

“What could a mortal such as you know of balance?! What could your pitifully brief lifespan ever know about peace that I do not? I, your Mother?! I, the Earth itself?!” She snarls. “You have only ever sought power, Alan Deaton, and the power is mine to give, and mine to _take.”_

And just like that, there’s… _something._ Everyone can feel it, yet none of them can explain it. A sense of decoupling, almost, but the effect is clear. Whatever magic Deaton had is gone. The former Druid slumps, staring at his hands in horror and muttering in Greek, desperately trying to force something, anything, to happen, but nothing comes. He’s as good as normal.

“As for you three,” Gaea speaks, gesturing at Scott, Allison, and Chris. “Leave, and take that one with you. I am in a generous mood. I suggest you depart this place before that changes.”

“Thank you, Great- Great Mother.” Chris stutters, bowing. “Come on, all of you. Let’s go.”

Scott turns around, sparing one last look for Stiles, one with a strange mix of confusion and longing and deep regret, and then he is gone, easing the still delirious Deaton into Chris’ car. They all watch as the black sedan tears out of the parking lot, and then it is gone.

Turning to where Jennifer has been quite literally paralysed, the Goddess speaks to her. “Do not think for a second I’ve forgotten about you, but I have other things to do first.” She says, before turning to the pack, and giving them a broad, joyous smile.

“Mother.” Stiles says, smiling at Her like an old friend.

“My children. All of you have given so much for me, more than you will ever know. The literal sacrifice you endured that I might be made free is deserving of gifts for each of you, as well.” She says.

“My Lady, you don’t need to give us anything, your freedom is reward enough.” Lydia says, bowing before the Goddess, and gesturing for the rest to do the same as well.

She chuckles, walking over to cup Lydia’s cheek and pulling her up to so that they look at one another in the eye. “You, sweet girl, are far too humble. I give you the power I took from the other one, and trust it to what I know are far better hands.” Lydia stutters out a thanks, only for Gaea to raise a hand. “No, no thanks. You have earned this, you deserve it.”

Next, She walks over to Jackson. “You stand on the shifting sands of self-doubt. You feel adrift in a sea of uncertainty, unsure if you truly belong here among your family. My child, I give you certainty. You are wanted, you are loved, and you are accepted here. Become the man you were always meant to be.” With that, She lays a hand on his heart, and the shift in Jackson’s mood is palpable to all of them.

She comes next to Danny and Isaac, smiling gently as She takes one of their hands in Hers. “You have both come from unkind homes. One full of violence, the other empty far too often. Both devoid of love. Hear my words, my sons. You have one another, and that is enough. Both of you, I ease your pain. Take solace in your pack, and in your love, and let go of what was. You didn’t deserve the pain you were given, and so I take it from you.”

Coming upon Boyd, She looks up at him where he’s more than a foot taller than Her, and smiles. “You have strength, you have courage, and you have the love of your life, and the love of your family. But there is darkness, a shadow over your joy. Your younger sister’s health. So, I promise you this. Health, vitality, and beauty for her. A long, joyous life. Do not fear for her ever again, for I am with her, always.”

Tears pour from Boyd’s eyes as he nods, smiling as wide as he humanly can before throwing his arms tight around the Goddess. She laughs out, and returns to embrace with ease before coming to where Erica stands, smiling softly at Her.

“You, dear girl, have become something transcendent since you were the Gift of the Moon.” She says, tucking a strand of Erica’s hair behind her ears. “Yet there is something you do not know. Like the fields of Carthage after Rome’s conquest, you are barren.” She rests a hand on the wolf’s stomach, and speaks again. “Therefore, I give to you bountiful fertility. When the time is right, you shall bear as many children as you wish, and I promise daughters as beautiful as Helen of Troy, and sons as glorious as Hyakinthos of Sparta.”

“Thank you.” Erica says, taking in a shuddering breath.

“Your children will carry my blessing, always.” Gaea promises. “As will all of yours.” She says to the others.

Next, the Goddess comes to Derek and Cora, and smiles at them softly. “So much loss. So much pain, and yet, whenever faced with a choice, you chose right. You chose to help the helpless, the lonely, and the outcasted. You remind me so much of Nyctimus, it truly is staggering. So, as Nyctimus was given new life, so will I give new life to another you have lost.”

There’s a great wind, and along it comes a mass of bright green leaves. They form a vortex, blurring together with such speed that the inside cannot be seen, only for them to break apart in a starburst, the leaves quickly catching alight and burning into nothing as they do. On the spot where they whirled around one another is a young woman, one with rich, glossy brown hair and Talia Hale’s features. The siblings both gasp aloud, rushing to where Laura Hale lays on the blacktop.

“My gift to the both of you is a life taken too soon. Don’t worry about any questions of her death, nor what she does or does not know. All is taken care of.” She assures them, before come to face Stiles.

“Mother, I-” He begins, but She raises a finger to his lips.

“There aren’t words in this language, or any other, to describe my gratitude to you, sweet boy. For that, I offer you two gifts. The first is the gift of amnesia. I will not force you to live with memories of what happened between us.”

With that, Gaea stands up in Her toes and presses Her lips to Stiles’ forehead. The very instant they make contact, there’s a visible relaxation in his posture, and he looks at Her with gratitude plain across his face. “Thank you.” He says.

“No need for thanks. Now, as to my second gift, come here.” She says, pulling him into a tight embrace, which he reciprocates immediately. There’s another gust of deep wind across the parking lot, and Her body goes limp in his arms. He eases Her to the ground, clearly confused, only for awestruck clarity to paint his face when She opens Her eyes.

In the place of the brilliant green irises, there are twin pools of blue, and when the woman’s lips move, the voice that comes out is clearly mortal. “S- Stiles?” Claudia Stilinski asks, reaching up to cup her son’s cheek. “Baby?”

“Mom.” Stiles sobs, pulling her close and crying into her shoulder. When he is able to pull back, he sees Derek and Cora in a similar state as they help Laura to her feet. When all of them compose themselves, they turn to where the Earth Mother stands, this time in a clearly divine form, one that glows brightly enough that she’s hard to look at. She is impossibly beautiful, wearing a chiton similar to the one now clothing Claudia, and with skin as pale as the purest sands, intricately piled hair as black as the night sky, and the same emerald green eyes.

She smiles at the pack, seemingly close to tears Herself. “All of you have my blessing. Wherever you go, the earth is with you.”

“Great Mother.” Derek calls out. “What will you do now?”

The Goddess looks considerate for a moment before her face becomes resolute. “I will find the others. The time has come for the Gods to return.”

Something about that strikes a chord within Stiles, reminding him of a promise made to care for a family, but the familiarity of it fades as quickly as it comes, and he smiles at Her. “Best of luck.”

“Thank you, all of you.” Gaea says, offering one last nod to them before turning to where she has kept Jennifer unable to so much as blink. “As for _you,_ I will deal with you myself.” Grabbing the mortal woman’s arm, she turns to face them all, and then the two of them vanish into the pavement, leaving not even a trace.

All at once, the world seems to become so much more vibrant, as though it were brought from a pale shadow into brilliant technicolor. The sun shines brighter, the leaves on the trees and the grasses are greener, and the sky and the waters of the lake have become somehow even bluer. All of them, even the newly returned feel it, too. The earth sings softly as its Mother comes home.

The moment of quiet is broken by the roar of a car’s engine as a blue sedan speeds into the parking lot and comes to a stop fast enough to squeal the tires. Tearing out of the vehicle are none other than Rosalie and Marin, each fully prepared for battle, only to be brought up short by the peaceful scene before them.

“We felt… impossibly powerful magic. What happened here?” Marin asks, confused. “Who are they?”

Stiles comes forward, wrapping an arm around Derek’s waist and laughing. When he manages to pull himself together, he finally speaks. “Boy, do I have a story for you guys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you all, you guys rock. Tell me what you thought of the ending, and join me in the next installment of this series, which I have tentatively named Healer's Winter.


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